Guardian Angel
by haseelo
Summary: Max has been living in a mental hospital since she was eight years old, diagnosed with schizophrenia. Her only friend and solace visits her at night. Crap at summaries. Rated M for mature content and possible triggers. No lemon! (or at least not for now) *I don't own anything, except the plot.
1. Chapter 1

Everyone said I was seeing things. "What a freak." "I bet she doesn't even see anything." "Just an attention whore." I stared into the grey sky and heaved a small inaudible sigh. I wonder if he would visit again tonight. A buzzer sounded from inside the building. That's my cue. All of us filed back obediently into the building. It was almost as grey as the sky. I felt rough hands shove me harshly away from the group. "Back of the line, freak," someone snarled. I dipped my head and waited outside of the line until they had all gone in before padding into the building. Just another day living my life as a mental patient.

My name is Max. I am 18 years old. I wasn't given a last name. My mother and father didn't bother. They just left me outside of an orphanage. I suppose I was lucky to be dropped off where I was. At least they didn't dump me in the trash. It wouldn't have made much difference anyways. I was told that a family of three had adopted me only a few months after I had been in the orphanage. I stayed with them for seven years, and for the last two, it was hell. Yes, Cain didn't like me. But it wasn't until I was five that he started to touch me. He was 16 years old. He must've thought it was a form of power, of domination, to force a five year old into sex, to rape her and rob her of her innocence. I didn't know anything back then, all I knew was the pain. Mr. Hall wasn't much better. He loved to exert his power over his children, using belts and hands as his tools. Mrs. Hall's role was the bystander. She knew what was happening in her home, but chose not to get in their way.

By the time they had thrown me back into the orphanage, I was malnourished and scarred, both physically and mentally. I would wake up every single night drenched in cold sweat, shaking and whimpering. After only a few weeks in the orphanage, the nuns decided that nobody would want to adopt a wide-eyed and always trembling girl who would scramble away from anyone who tried to touch her. I don't blame them. I wouldn't adopt me either.

I was barely eight years old when I started living my life as a mental patient, or a "special child", as I was constantly reminded by the staff. My name is Max. I am 18 years old. And professionals say I have schizophrenia. I see things, and hear things that aren't really there. Specifically, I see a boy, who looks about the same age as me. He has olive skin, and soft black hair. He looks thin, but not scrawny. One more thing, he's got wings.

Not hook-on wings, like you see on performances by celebrities where they pretend they are angels. Real wings. I've seen them a few times already. Most of the time they're hidden underneath his clothes, but a few times I've seen them hanging behind him, like black arches of death. He always wears the same blank expression, but his eyes say everything he doesn't need to. He's never spoken to me, but he listens as he crouches on the windowsill of my single room. I suppose it's a perk I get from living here long enough. The nurses know me, and the director also knows me well enough to know that a single room for me would make everyone's life easier. For one, they wouldn't have to deal with the death threats that come from the other girls. No, the director wouldn't want a death on her hands. That wouldn't look good to future residents.

So I sit, alone, on my single bed, looking out at the greying sky. It looks like it's about to rain. I blink at the meager light filtering through the hazy window and into my room. The walls are bare, and everything in the room looks monotone, even me. I know for a fact that I don't have much colour on my face, ever. I don't ever remember liking to eat. I didn't see a point in it, really, unless I felt as though I would starve to death. Not that anybody would mind.

I don't know how long I sat on the bed, staring unconsciously at the wall across from me. The lights outside in the hallway had turned off, and it had become dark. The moon provided a bit of light in the room. There was no electrical light in my room. They wouldn't trust mental patients with those. I looked outside one last time before biting down gently on the inside of my cheek. Once. Twice. Three times. He probably wasn't coming tonight. So I slipped underneath the thin blankets and laid down. I could feel the metal springs press into my back, but by now, I had gotten used to the feeling.

I kept staring at the ceiling. I didn't want to close my eyes. I didn't want to surrender myself to the nightmares. But it was inevitable. I had already been awake for over 72 hours. Sleep would take me, one way or another. And I would wake shivering and whimpering, like I had for the past 13 years of my life. I blinked. Once. Twice. Just as my vision started to blur with exhaustion, a familiar shadow loomed into my room.

I hurriedly blinked the exhaustion out of my eyes and crawled out of bed to open the window a little, feeling a cold breeze push past me. There he was. He was perched on the tree branch that he usually sat on. It was a whole 4 feet from the edge of my window. I felt a corner of my mouth curled upwards the slightest bit into a small smile. He made everything seem okay, even when it wasn't. He said nothing, and only cocked his head the tiniest bit to the side, eyes studying my features. I drew my tongue across my parched lips to wet them before pushing the window open as far as it would go, cringing a little at the sudden chill that entered the room. I backed away from the window then, sitting on the floor with my back against the wall. I pulled my knees into my chest and wrapped my thin arms around them as I watched him, wondering if he would come in this time. He blinked, dark eyes regarding me with a curiosity that I didn't comprehend. His black wings stretched out behind him, making him look like some sort of dark angel in the night.

Then with one flap of his wings, somehow, he had landed silently on the windowsill, one hand gripping the metal frame. His fingers were long and graceful. Everything about him was graceful, even when he dropped into the room without a sound. He closed the window behind him, shutting out any more cold air that wanted to come inside.

I stared at him, taking in how much he looked like an angel, how each move he made was so graceful. He stared back at me, never taking his eyes off me. They were dark, curious, and held some sort of wariness that I couldn't quite understand. He took a step towards me, the move slow and deliberate, then stopped. The corner of my mouth curved upwards in that small smile that nobody else saw. "Hi," I said, my voice sounding hoarse and scratchy to my ears. I hadn't spoken in days, or had it been weeks? I never spoke unless it was with him. And it had been 23 days since he last visited. He blinked in response to my greeting, coming closer and then crouching on the floor opposite me, just a few inches from me. I felt myself relax for the first time in 23 days. His wings brushed the floor, and he shifted them, as though he could feel my eyes studying them.

I unwrapped my arms from my knees and stretched one hand out slowly and tentatively. "C-Can I..." My voice caught in my throat. It was difficult for me to even say the word 'touch'. Regardless, I kept my hand hovering in the air, only shaking a little. The tremors never really left my body, not even after so many years, and it was only when he was there that they subsided a little. His eyes searched mine, before coming to rest on my trembling fingertips. He made no move to come closer nor any move to leave, but I could see the wariness in his eyes as he watched me. So I just twisted my mouth into that small smile and lowered my hand to wrap around my knees again.

It didn't hurt me, not really. The first time I had tried to touch him, he had leapt backwards and vanished for months. Maybe he didn't like being touched either. And I understood those particular boundaries better than anyone. I pulled my knees closer. I had just wanted to feel him there, to reassure myself that this was indeed real, and that I hadn't fallen asleep yet. That this wasn't just another twisted dream.

He looked a little guilty, almost a little regretful. I only shook my head a little before swallowing, "How are you?" I ask, my voice barely carrying over to him. He dipped his head once before lifting it again. The corner of my lip curves in that small smile. A nod meant something positive, or a yes. A shake meant the opposite. It was something that I had figured out a long time ago. It had been years since the first time he visited, and I had learned how to read his silences and translate them into basic words and phrases. "That's good."

His blank expression seemed set in stone, but his eyes softened a little, the darkness in them sparkling a little in the moonlight. There was a question in his eyes. _How have you been? _My smile widened fractionally and I unwrapped my arms again to cross my legs and lay my mildly trembling hands in them. "I've been okay. It could be better. But it could also been worse." A shiver crawled down my back and my arms twitched in the cold. My breath came out in small mists, and the pajamas that the hospital gave us provided no warmth. His eyes were tinted with concern as he tilted his head to the side, eyes moving from me to my bed and back again. _It's warmer there. _I nodded and padded silently to the bed, sliding under the covers once again and pulling the thin blanket to rest under my chin. He sat on the edge of the bed, careful to keep his distance from me. I'm not sure if it was for his sake or mine.

My eyes became droopy despite the freezing temperature of the room. It comforted me to know that he was there, standing guard over me as I slept. He had done this countless of times, watching me as I slept, always at the edge of the bed, the slight dip of the mattress chasing away my nightmares for the night. In the morning, he would always be gone, a figment of my imagination, if it wasn't for one thing. He would always leave behind a feather on the pillow, next to my head. "Thank you," I manage to murmur, my drooping eyes focusing for a moment on him. His eyes soften and he nods, another dip of his head. _Sleep._ Perhaps it's because I haven't slept in over 72 hours. Perhaps it's because I feel warm all of a sudden, but my eyes close obediently and I lose consciousness almost immediately. The last thought in my mind before I drift off is that there is a term people use to describe those who watch over and protect them. In my mind, I smile. _Guardian Angel. _

I open my eyes somewhat unwillingly. He's gone. He always is in the morning. I've slept well, the first time in 23 days. No nightmares, no dreams. I turn my head, and the small smile washes over my face again when I see a single black feather lying on my pillow. I expose one trembling hand to the coldness that invades my room to pick up the feather gently, as though it might crumble away into dust. It doesn't. I close my eyes for a moment more before slipping off the bed and into the coldness that surrounds my room. The window is closed; he must've closed it after he left. There is no sign of life outside of my room door, so I admire the feather for a few more minutes, running a few shaking fingertips along it before opening the bottom drawer in my bedside table and reluctantly dropping it behind the back panel. As much as I would have loved to keep it with me, it wouldn't do to have any of the nurses find it.


	2. Chapter 2

Without knowing, a whole week has passed since his last visit.

"Schizo-girl! You're on my team!" I start in surprise, before walking over to Cassandra's side of the small field. It was customary for us to get a bit of exercise each day, and today's sport just happened to be baseball. Our team grimaces at my arrival. Whispers of "freak" and "attention whore" drift from all sides, and I keep my eyes glued to the ground.

We play for about 10 minutes before we switch. "Hey schizo! You're up to bat first!" I blink quickly before padding quietly out of the safety of the cage. I pick up a small red bat and hold it feebly with two trembling hands. The large girl who plays as the pitcher stands a few feet away from me, mouth curled up into an unpleasant sneer. I don't remember her name.

I wet my parched lips before raising the bat higher. I don't want to be here. I don't want to be a part of this game. But there's no backing out of it now. She grips the ball tightly in her hand and draws it back. I swallow. She flings her arm forward, the ball whipping towards me, and I barely have the time to register what happened before I feel a searing pain on my jaw, where it connects with my neck.

The bat drops from my hands, and I squeeze my eyes shut before doubling over in pain. The supervisor, who had merely been supervising, jumps up and runs over. There's something in her expression that makes it seem as though she would rather be anywhere else. Maybe it is exasperation, and maybe it is annoyance, but she crouches over me anyways. "Max, are you alright?" She sounds as though she's talking to a wounded animal. I cringe at the tone she employs, but nod all the same, grateful that she doesn't touch me.

I sneak a glance up at the pitcher. She's howling with laughter. Of course she whipped me in the face with a baseball on purpose. I get up slowly and unsteadily on my feet. "Let's get you to the nurse, shall we?" The supervisor still employs that pitying tone that one only used to sooth wounded creatures. I bite the inside of my cheek, wincing slightly when pain shoots up my jaw, and walk off the field, heading towards the nurse's office.

"You should be thankful you don't have a concussion or any fractures," the nurse tells me gently after half an hour of her examination. She didn't once touch me, only took an x-ray of my head and done a few simple tests to check for concussions. "I doubt you would've wanted to stay in here for the night," she smiles not unkindly at me. I blink at the ground. It didn't really matter to me where I stayed. Then again, as I think about it, if he visits again tonight, I'd want to be in my room for that. So I slide off the examination table and dip my head in her direction as a sign of thanks before heading back to my room.

I close the door behind me and sink onto the bed. Running my thumb absentmindedly over the large bump on the left side of my jaw, I fix my eyes on the stark alabaster walls, unaware of how much time has passed. The door opens to let in a woman with tray of food, who sets it on the table. It was dinner. I should've guessed that they would serve me dinner in my room.

After an "accident" like that, the staff would likely keep me in my room where I would be deemed safe for at least a week. I sigh inaudibly before lowering my fingers from the lump on my jaw. After looking at the tray of food on the table for a few minutes, I finally get up and approach it warily. I use a fork to feebly poke at a pile of mashed potatoes. After swallowing one mouthful, I grimace and place the fork back onto the tray. I'm not feeling hungry anyways. The staff would be back tomorrow morning to take the tray away. Maybe I can manage to scrape the contents off and get rid of it somehow. Then maybe they wouldn't force me to get on medication again.

The sky was darkening already. I glance at the clock, placed high up on the wall. It was almost 8pm. I lie back on my bed, sliding my feet under the covers and placing my hands flat on my stomach. Staring up at the ceiling, I hoped that he would come again tonight. It was unlikely, but I hoped all the same. If he didn't, I'd just have to try to not fall asleep. It was the only way to not have nightmares. 10pm rolled around, then 11pm. By midnight, shadows were looming into my room, but none of them were his. I sit up in bed. I couldn't risk lying down in case I fell asleep. I fiddle unconsciously with my fingers in my lap, slowly counting the number of branches on the shadows of the tree branch to keep myself awake. I had reached 12 when a figure appeared in the edge of my vision. It just appeared, it didn't come from outside, otherwise I would've seen a shadow covering those of the tree branches.

I look to my left, and there he was, crouching in the corner of my room where I was sitting last night. My eyes widen, my parched lips part just a crack, and my fingers stop fidgeting. A mere two seconds ago, there was nothing in the corner. Objects, physically beings, didn't just _appear_. Did that mean I was really crazy? Was I really a schizophrenic?

"H-How did you…?" My words die in my throat. He blinks at me, his expression unchanging. I feel tears welling up in my eyes and a burning feeling at the back of my throat as it constricts. Maybe he was a schizophrenic conjuration, nothing but my imagination. After all, he had never spoken to me, never given me any indication that he was real… Except for the feathers. I whirl around and pull out the bottom drawer of the cabinet, reaching behind to find… nothing. There was nothing there, no soft feathers, not even dust.

I sit back on my knees as I swallow hard and the tears come scalding down my cheeks. Of course he wasn't real. He was just a figment of my imagination for the past 10 years. I keep my eyes on his figure still in the corner of the room. There's no change in him, except for the slight widening of his eyes. He looks surprised, shocked even. He had never shown a single shred of emotion for the past 10 years, and now he suddenly becomes shocked? It's because I've finally figured out he's not real. My subconscious is shocked that I figured it out. How did I even dream him up?

He stands right as I slump over to sit next to the drawer. There's no use in watching his every movement. He wasn't real, just a part of my subconscious. He comes closer, and sits down across from me. The proximity would've been enough to make me tense up, if only he was real. But in this case, he wasn't, so there was no harm that could be dealt. I look at him, my watering eyes blurring my vision slightly. "How did I ever dream you up?" My voice is a hoarse whisper.

His eyes betray emotions that his face would not allow. I see hurt and concern in his eyes and his right hand moves up slowly. I keep my eyes fixed on his. "You're not real," I say, the words barely audible. "I spent 10 years thinking you were, but you aren't. You're just some part of my schizophrenic subconscious." His hand stops right under my jaw, where I got hit. I swear I can almost feel the heat radiating from his nonexistent hand. I almost let myself believe that he's real.

But he's not, so what does it matter if he touches me? It would probably go right through, like a ghost. That would explain why I didn't feel an urgent need to place myself as far away from him as possible. He's not real. He's never been real. He's only ever been a part of my imagin-

His fingers barely brushes against my cheek. I didn't realize that I had been speaking out loud until my voice fails me.

I can't move, stuck with my eyes wide and teary, staring at him. Contrary to what I thought, I feel his fingertips on my face. They feel warm and gentle as they lightly trace down my cheek to the bump on my jaw. I feel his thumb brush lightly across the bump, gentle enough so as to not hurt me, but there all the same.

He frowns, the first time I've ever seen his face sway from that emotionless mask. I blink and my brows pull together in confusion. My senses come back to me and I shy away from his touch. He leaves his fingers hovering in the air for a few seconds before he lets them fall back to the ground and leans back so that there is more space between us. A wave of coldness washes over me, and I realize that his warmth had kept _me _warm, because of our proximity.

"Y-You can't be real," I mumble, "Real things don't just appear out of nowhere." He says nothing, but extends a hand, palm facing the ceiling, as though offering for me to take it. I eye his hand warily for a few moments and he is about to let it fall again before I slowly extend my own hand. My fingers are shaking, and a few more tears slide down my cheeks. A few centimeters away from touching, I tear my gaze away from our hands to look at his face. He's been watching my face, my expression, rather than my hand. I see no reserves that he might have had about physical contact, and I almost pull back.

Almost. Because in my moment of hesitation, I see his eyes soften and the corner of his lips pull upwards in a tiny smile. My breath catches in my throat, and my fingers close around two of his warm fingers. I can feel him, and he's warm, so he's not a ghost. But he can't be real either.

My face must betray my thoughts because before I know it, he speaks. "I _am _real, Max." His voice is not boyish, but not so deep as to be a man's. It's smooth and soft, much like the feathers he had left for me. I lose my train of thought and blurt out the first thing that comes to mind, "Your feathers are gone." He smiles gently, and I am shocked at the amount of emotion he has shown today. "I had to take them back. The staff are more than thorough in their search for possible weapons in your room, and I couldn't let them find them."

I just blink. He's never spoken a word to me in 10 years, and suddenly he becomes a chatterbox. I don't comment on this. Instead, I blurt out something else, "Normal people don't appear out of nowhere." He holds my hand slightly tighter, and a small part of my mind is amazed that I don't feel an overwhelming urge to break off this physical contact. "Normal people don't have wings either," is all he says.

I frown for a moment, "Why now?" He looks at me, puzzled. I feel the hurt staining my words, even as I try to hide it. The spillover of emotion was a weakness, one that I had learned not to show in front of my peers. I had no idea why I couldn't seem to hide it from him. "You've visited me for 10 years now. Why did you have to wait until now to let me touch you, to speak to me?"

He seems not to understand, "I never thought you needed that," he states bluntly. The pad of his thumb glides softly over my knuckles, and for once in my life, I don't feel repelled by another's touch. It seems to have the opposite effect, as I feel my anxiety slowing. "I only thought you would like someone to listen, to be there for you," he spoke, "I'm sorry I never knew."

My fingers loosened around his, and I pulled my hand back, "So you're real." I let that sink in for a moment, and he stays silent. "But that doesn't explain you being possible. People don't have wings, and they certainly don't appear out of thin air."

He seems to stiffen at the mention of his wings. Maybe they're a sore spot for him, like touching is for me. "I… I was part of an experiment. My drug addict of a mother gave me up for adoption as a baby, and somehow I was given to a part of the government that conducted experiments, designed to make the perfect race." His voice was bitter and I suddenly regretted letting go of his hand.

"I'll spare you the details, but I arrived in the scientist compound as a human. Then they mixed me with the DNA of a raven and I came out as something less than human." His eyes wouldn't meet mine. As they stayed glued to the floor, I wondered if this was how I always looked to my peers. "Apparently, if I stay still long enough, I become invisible. I blend into my surroundings. So technically, I didn't appear out of nowhere, I was here all along."

I found no words at the back of my throat, letting a slow frown take over my face. "You can be invisible," I finally manage to say. It was devoid of humour or disbelief, merely a statement of fact. He seems to freeze completely, only blinking. After a few moments, his figure blurs around the edges, and he did, indeed seem to fade into his surroundings. When I look harder, I realize that I can see the edge of his form, just barely outlined in the moonlight.

"Oh." It's a quiet sound, but all I can manage. He cocks his head, instantly flickering into visibility again, and offers me a small smile. _One more thing_. I bite the inside of my cheek. Once. Twice. Three times. "What's your name?" It comes out almost as a whisper. There's a tiny pause before he speaks again.

"Fang. My name's Fang."

Then all the lights come on.


	3. Chapter 3

I blink in surprise at the suddenly invasion of light and suddenly feel cold. When I come back to my senses, I realize why. Fang has shot into the corner of the room, keeping very still. What did he say? If he stays still for long enough, then he can become invisible. I'm thinking that this may be the best thing to do, considering the staff might barge in here at any moment.

I swallow at the sight of three imposing figures in the doorway. They're three of the girls who were on my team today at baseball. They aren't small girls either. I have a feeling that the bump in my jaw won't be the only injury I will be incurring today.

They take a few steps into the room, and I find myself grateful for the irregular shape of the single room. Fang is safely hidden away behind one of the walls. But that won't be the case if they move further in. I steal a glance to see… nothing in the corner where he had just been, and breathe a sigh of relief.

"So you think that just because you're schizo, you deserve better treatment than the rest of us?" One of the girls snarls, moving towards me. I instinctively back away, my fear of being touched overpowering my command to still my feet.

"Well anyone can be schizo, even me. And do you know what my imaginary friend's telling me right now? She's telling me to beat the shit out of this attention whore," she grins wickedly. She's obvious the leader of the small pack invading my room. One glance at the girl on her left, and the door is closed behind them.

"You think just because you've been here for longer than us, and because you're schizo, that you deserve special treatment? Well you're about to get special treatment. And nobody's going to hear your screams." She holds up a grey rag that looks as though it may have once been white. It stinks of the chemical they clean the floors with and I almost gag.

I back away until I realize that there's nowhere to go in my room. Then I feel air whip around the room, and gentle fingers holding my shoulders. I don't flinch. I turn to see Fang, his wings flared and a dangerous look on his face that I've never seen before. The room grows darker marginally, and he looks like an avenging angel. My guardian angel. Somehow, I tear my eyes from him and look around to see the three girls frozen, mouths ajar.

"Leave her alone." Only three words were spoken from Fang, but they contained more menace than I could've ever imagined. I had a feeling that if Fang could, he'd be growling right now. The girls just nodded quickly with fear rooted in their eyes, and almost clambered over each other to get out of the room.

The door swung open with a bang, and their whimpers echoed down the hall. I look back at Fang, "The nurses are probably going to check on the noise." Fang doesn't say anything, merely stops moving entirely. After a few seconds, I see his image start to fade, and before I know it, I can only barely see his outline.

Footsteps grow louder outside my door, and two nurses burst into the room. "What's going on here?" For a moment I worry that they see Fang, but their eyes aren't filled with wonder or fear, just stern dissatisfaction and a hint of weariness. I shake my head, and sit down on the far side of my bed, so if they were to come to me, they wouldn't have to be anywhere near Fang.

They check my room, doing a visual sweep to make sure that there isn't anyone hiding in the closet or bathroom. Once they're satisfied that there isn't anyone hiding in my room, they turn off the lights and leave, but not before shooting me a look filled with displeasure and pity. Pity that I was "schizophrenic", and displeasure that it was their time that was wasted. They left the room briefly afterwards, sighing at the tray that was almost completely untouched.

The door closed behind them quietly, and I allowed myself to sigh in relief that Fang wasn't found. The bed dips behind me as he sits on the other side of it, and there's silence between us for a moment. Then, "Are you not hungry?" he asks. I pause for a moment, trying to decide if I am or not. I shake my head, "Not hungry." He says nothing, then the weight on the other side of the bed is gone. He moves silently to sit on the floor in front of me. He's always silent, and moves with the grace of a big cat. A predator. My guardian angel.

He cocks his head to the side slightly, "Do you always get picked on by them?" His words are soft and gentle, but I can hear a controlled anger buried deep beneath them. I shrug, "Most of the time they leave me alone. I guess they weren't feeling happy that they lost to the other team and decided to take it out on me."

Fang becomes immobile for a few seconds before he takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. It seems as though he's about to say more about it, but catches himself and leaves the topic alone. His eyes are focused on my plain blanket, and I take this chance to study his wings. Relaxed, they form two black arches behind him, brushing the floor where he sits.

I muster up all my courage. "C-Could you show me? Your w-wings?" my voice trembles, and I curse it for sounding so weak. He only stares at me for a moment before shrugging. He stands a few feet away from me. Slowly but deliberately, and all the while gauging my reaction, he extends his wings, nearly taking up the whole width of the room. The pitch black wings span at least 15 feet, and in the moonlight, I see lean muscles along his wings. The room gets darker by a little, I see that his wings are a very faint purple where the light shines on them. They're beautiful.

"They aren't really," I hear his say quietly. I don't realize I've been speaking. His tone isn't bitter, but nonchalant and a little embarrassed. I twist my mouth into that small smile, and stand up myself. I approach him very slowly. "May I… t-touch them?" The last time I had asked, everything in his body had screamed, "No", but he had been silent. He stays silent for a long period of time. I am about to apologize and move away, but his eyes finally meet mine, and he nods imperceptibly. I raise my hand and lightly let my fingertips touch his wings. When he doesn't shoot away from me, I brush my fingers down the outline of his wings.

Even with that small touch, I am completely amazed. His feathers are soft and smooth, but I can feel the immense power hidden in his wings, and the flexes and pulls of his muscles as his wings move beneath my fingers. I let myself smile a bit more before lifting my hand from his wing.

As soon as his wing no longer touches my fingertips, I feel myself wanting that contact again, but I make myself sit back on the bed and regard him with a small smile. He looks confused. "People are usually… afraid. Are you not?" He speaks slowly, as though trying to find the right words. I shake my head a little, "I've been seeing you since I was eight years old. You've done nothing to harm me. I see no reason to be afraid."

I curse the harsh cold that winter nights bring and feel a shiver run up my spine. He sees it and pulls his wings behind him to sit next to me on the bed, not as far as he had been a week ago, but not too close either. One wing extends to wrap gently around me, and I shiver again out of the warmth that he brings me. We sit in silence for what seems like hours, and all the coldness has been chased out of my body. He retracts his wing and I slip into my bed, feeling the springs press into my back.

All of a sudden, I feel like I could sleep for days on end. I stifle a yawn. "Will you be here when I wake up?" I don't expect him to say yes, and he doesn't. With a small shake of his head, Fang looks almost regretful. "I need to take care of a few things," he says quietly, "I'll be gone by the time morning comes." I smile sadly and nod. At least he'll be here to chase away the dreams, and for the first time, I feel like my trembling has completely vanished. I close my eyes, his proximity and warmth comforting me, and drift off into an easy sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

When I wake, Fang's not in the room. If he is, he isn't visible. I blink hard and force myself to slip out of bed, flinching when my feet touch the cold floor. I look around the room. My barely touched dinner is still sitting on the table. The walls are still bare, and for once there is no black feather sitting at my side. Nothing has changed since last night, but I feel like a completely different person. I'm not a schizophrenic. He's real. I allow myself a small smile.

A sharp rapping breaks me out of my thoughts. Before I even have time to wonder what's going on, a hoard of staff and nurses barge into my room and surround me, demanding an explanation to the "devil" that appeared last night in my room. Apparently the girls had told. I force myself to keep my face blank and unknowing.

They throw question after question at me, as though drowning me in words will motivate me to give them answers. I keep quiet, wiping the emotions on my face clean.

One of the kinder nurses sits down next to me, far enough for me to not feel threatened. "Max, we need to know what's going on." I like her. She's straightforward and doesn't make me feel pitied, but at the same time, she's not dismissive of us. Us. The mental patients. I just blink at her.

"Max, did those girls come into your room?" she asks. I hesitate the slightest bit before nodding once.

"Did they threaten you?"

I nod.

"Did they hurt you?"

Another nod.

"Other than the girls, was there anyone else in the room with you last night?"

I blink and shake my head.

"Vanessa says that there was a boy with wings standing behind you, and threatened them."

That was a statement, and no question was asked, so I just shrug. A statement required no answer.

Quiet murmurs start at the back of the room, and I look behind me to see two nurses shooting frowns in my direction. I turn back around.

"Max, you've gone without an incident for months now. I think that's quite the improvement." I sense a smile in her tone, but I don't look up. "Incident" was the word nurses used to refer to an episode, whether it be a stage of depression, cutting, burning, or in my case, seeing people. It wasn't that I hadn't been seeing Fang, obviously. It was just that I never let anyone know anymore.

A few seconds pass before she tries again. It really is commendable, her effort, but statements didn't require answers.

"Maybe you can even get off your medication." I blink. I don't bother letting her know that I had been flushing my medication down the toilet. After all, I didn't have schizophrenia.

"A doctor is going to come in and assess your condition, and whether we need to change your medication or remove it completely." Of course I wouldn't get a say. But then again, what would I say? _Sorry, it seems there's been a mistake for the past 10 years of my life. I don't suffer from schizophrenia. I genuinely see a boy my age with large black wings every so often. He can even turn invisible if he stays still for long enough._

Yeah, right.

If I had said that, they would've locked me up in the isolation room for God knows how long. I can't say anything, so I just dip my head slowly in a nod. I hope she recognizes my reluctance in letting a doctor examine me again.

These doctor visits never ended well.

He steps inside the room. I've seen him before, twice. Once to diagnose me with schizophrenia, and another time to add to my medication. His voice is soft, but his eyes are cruel. I watch him silently, completely tensed. He's tried to touch me before, during our first meeting. I had left teeth marks on his hand, and he's regarded me with disdain ever since. I see that disdain now, but he doesn't try to touch me.

There are no exchanges of pleasantries, not even half-assed ones. He inspects me without a word, checking my eyes and ears with a light for a while.

"Have you been seeing those people since my last visit?" he asks. I hesitate before shaking my head. I don't need a clarification to know he's referring my "schizophrenia". I don't tell him anything about Fang.

When he's satisfied after interrogating me, he signs off that my "schizophrenia" has somehow cured itself. The nurses are overjoyed. Another patient is cured. I don't realize it until they leave the room and the door closes behind their murmurings. _I don't have schizophrenia. So I don't have a mental illness. I won't be able to live here for much longer. When I leave, Fang won't be able to find me. I won't ever see him again._

The emotion that comes along with that thought sneaks up behind me and hits me so hard I can't breathe for a moment. Fang's been my only source of happiness, my only solace for as long as I permit myself to remember.

And now I'll have to leave him. _Will I have enough time to let him know? Will he visit before I have to leave?_

Turns out the answer to that question was "no". I leave the next morning, having not slept at all throughout the night. They release me back to the orphanage the next morning at 9 am. I frown as I look around my single room for the last time. I don't even have a black feather to take with me. For all I know, I'll never see Fang again.

The car ride to the orphanage is completely silent. My mind still lingers in the now empty single room in the mental hospital. _Will he visit tonight? He would be waiting for nothing. Will he visit the next girl who takes over the room?_ My eyebrows pull together in displeasure at this and force myself to blink hard.

The orphanage is familiar, but not at the same time. I vaguely recall the curling paint on the white walls, and the creaking beds they have lined up in a room.

"Welcome back, Maximum." _Maximum?_ I frown at the name. _My name is Max, not some made-up alternative._ But I don't say this out loud. I merely let the old nun show me around for two hours.

After all the introductions have been made, I lie down on my new bed. I don't feel springs digging into my back, and for some reason it makes me feel anxious. I've been sleeping on those harsh springs for years, and am reminded that I am once again in a foreign place where I know nobody.

Even after everybody else has crawled into bed and fallen asleep, I keep my eyes open. My bed faces a large window, and through it I can see the night sky. There are stars blinking down at me, past the pitch black night sky. I wonder where Fang is. I can almost feel the dip at the edge of my bed where he would sit. I shake myself out of it and curl under the thick blankets. These blankets keep me much warmer than those of the mental hospital, but I can't keep the thought of Fang out of my mind, and how his wings chased the last bits of cold away from me.

The thought of him soothes me though, and I pretend that it's his wings that are enveloping me, and not the thick blankets. It helps me fend off the nightmares that night, barely. I spend the next week walking around the place, sometimes joining silently in the games that they play in the orphanage. I didn't recall the children here being so cheerful, or friendly.

Despite my unwillingness to speak and be touched, I had made careful and tentative friendships with a few others. There was a small girl named Angel. The name fit her, and she had the sweetest personality. Her older brother Gazzy was a joker and was always getting into trouble with another boy, Iggy. He was blind, apparently having been born that way. I didn't know Iggy very well, but he seemed to be nice. Nudge was the last person I had made acquaintances with. She was talkative and made up for my tendency to be silent.

They all seemed to be so cheerful together, and I let their voices lull me into a sense of security. As the weeks passed, I became closer to all of them, though I stayed silent. They brought out my small smiles often, and for that I was grateful. When night fell though, I would always fall back into my mind, where Fang resided.

Night after night, I would wonder and hope that he would visit, having miraculously found me. But it was all wishful thinking. 20 nights had passed, then 40. 63. 88. Soon, I was at the 100th night since I had last seen him.

I didn't know whether or not I should celebrate, so I don't. I just lay there in bed, staring into the black sky that reminded me so much of him, and let my mind wander. I think of the last time I had seen him, the memories still so fresh in my mind. It was as though no more than a week had passed.

112 nights after I last saw Fang, Angel and Gazzy get adopted by a happy couple in their mid 40's. The next day, Nudge is taken in by an old couple. I suddenly remember why I hated this place. You finally get to know some people, finally make some friends, and they all get adopted. They all leave you. My final friend count had gone down to 1. I spent more time with Iggy, and eventually became close enough with him to speak in his presence. I don't speak often, but the silences that reside between us are comfortable.

Day 237. The orphanage allowed us to go out for a few hours today because it was the first snow. I walk around the city with Iggy, never straying too far from the orphanage. For a blind person, he can navigate very easily. I had always thought that it was because he had lived in the orphanage for so long. I voice this to him, and he laughs softly.

"Being born blind develops your other senses a lot better," he tells me, and then goes on to explain how he can sense objects around him. I hum quietly to show that I'm still there and listening.

We've been walking around for an hour, sometimes in silence and sometimes in short conversations, when I freeze. Iggy senses this and stops next to me, turning his head to look at my general space. He cocks his head to the side in a question, but I don't speak. I can't. My voice gets stolen from me, and I don't mind that. Because even if I had my voice, I wouldn't know what to say.

I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek. Once. Twice. Three times. My nails dig into my palm, leaving small crescent-shaped marks. I close my eyes and hope that my eyes have somehow failed me, that my brain is imaging things. But I know that I don't have schizophrenia. I've never had schizophrenia.

So when I open my eyes, I don't know what to feel when I see what lies on the ground ahead of me. It's a black feather. I don't move for the longest time, until Iggy speaks up. "Max?" he asks tentatively. He's confused. Even if he did have his eyesight, he still wouldn't understand. Nobody would.

But it's his voice that shakes me out of my stupor. I take two steps and crouch down to pick up the feather between two fingers. My hand shakes uncontrollably. It hasn't been this bad since I left the mental hospital.

I run my fingers along the feather, and I whip my head once way, then another, trying to find that comforting figure in the distance. Nothing. It's his feather. I've run my fingers along too many of his feathers to know that without a doubt, it is his.

"Fang."

It's barely a whisper, and is carried off with the wind before Iggy can even catch it, even with his sensitive hearing. I clutch the feather in my hand, convinced that if I let it go, that I will lose him, too. I can't lose him.

Eventually, we find ourselves back at the orphanage, and I've been silent the whole way back. Iggy sends one of his small smiles in my direction, and heads back to the boys' wing. I watch his back as he walks away, completely numb.

Back in the girls' wing, I collapse onto my bed and loosen my fingers around the feather. If I lose it, I will lose him. With my right hand holding onto the end of the feather, my left travels along the edge of the metal bedframe and finds a sharp edge. It digs into my pointer finger until I can feel it cutting into my flesh. It takes away the numbness that I've been feeling since I found the feather. If I become numb, it will be easy for me to lose the feather. And I can't lose it. I can't lose my guardian angel.


	5. Chapter 5

**[A/N] Hihi! So umm, I won't be doing these author's notes very often, but I just wanted to say thanks for reading! And especially thank you guys for the comments/reviews! They make my day and it's a lot easier to write, knowing that people like my story. **

**I'm actually making up this story as I go, with no end in mind whatsoever, so I hope you guys like it! **

**But anyways, thank you thank you all for the reviews and follows! You guys are amazing~**

* * *

I sleep with the feather clenched in my hand, under my pillow. It soothes some of my older nightmares, but brings me new ones, ones that involve Fang. More often than not, I end up waking with a jolt, every muscle in my body tensed, the feather clutched in my hand. I don't go anywhere with it. It stays in my pocket, one hand always touching it. I think my fingers have left permanent marks on it.

I've become more withdrawn, even with Iggy. He's voiced that I seem more skittish and well, more like I used to be. I don't comment on this. I feel like the way I used to be, the way I was when I first came back to the orphanage. We still spend much of our free time together, but I feel more comfortable in silence, brushing the pad of my thumb over the feather.

Day 267. I've gotten quite a few visitors here. They ranged from large families of 5 children, to couples who were just looking for one child. The nuns tell me I should be more open, more smiley, more willing to talk. I just blink back at them.

I don't want to be adopted. When will they understand? I'm not the type of person to be living in a household. I just want my 19th birthday to pass quickly so I can leave this place. I'm not sure where I would go, but I'm sick and tired of being ogled at like I'm some sort of object for sale. I wonder idly if Iggy feels that way, too. He's blind, but a lot of the time, he senses me looking at him.

It's been a long day, so I just lie back on my bed, staring at the grey sky through the window. It's going to rain soon. My kind of weather. I pull out the feather and smooth it out on my lap. I wonder if I'll ever see him again. I ask myself that often. I wonder what the odds are, that I may be able to see him again.

A sharp rap on the door knock me out of my stupor and a soft voice lets me know that it's time for dinner. I wince unconsciously. After leaving the mental hospital, I haven't liked food more. I feel like I've eaten less, if anything. But in this place, meals are not allowed to be skipped, so I force myself to my feet, and slip the feather carefully into my pocket before heading to the dining hall.

Iggy smiles in my direction when I sit down across from him. "Hey," he greets me softly. I mumble a greeting back, and poke at my food, slipping a few grains of rice into my mouth. The food here isn't bad. It's actually quite good, considering it was an orphanage that had to take care of hundreds of children, on a tight budget.

"Not going to eat tonight either?" Iggy teased, a half-smile on his face. I stay silent, chewing on the little pieces of rice in my mouth. "You know that's not healthy," Iggy sighs. I feel a bit of guilt wash over me. He's been going at my lack of appetite since the first few days he's known me. I know he's only concerned for my health and well-being, but I just can't bring myself to eat more.

Before I can mumble anything else though, he shakes his head and chuckles under his breath. I bite my tongue and wait for him to speak his mind.

"Just take care of yourself, alright Max?" His voice is light and nonchalant, but the look in his eyes are concerned, even though they don't quite meet my own. I nod, then remember that he can't see me. "I will," I whisper. I know Iggy hears me though, because he nods to himself and goes back to his own food.

I let a tiny smile cross my face as I watch him eat. It's uncanny how he can find his fork and the food on his plate with ease. I watch as he misses a piece of beef and my smile grows just the slightest bit wider.

"Left," I say, just loud enough for him to hear. He chuckles and spears the piece of meat, "Bull's-eye," he grins. I shake my head in amusement and wait for him to finish so we can leave together.

We have another two hours before lights go out and we're expected in bed. I used to spend those hours with "the gang", back when Angel, Gazzy, and Nudge were still here. For the past month, I've been keeping to myself in bed with the feather.

Tonight, Iggy asks me to walk with him. He tells me there's somewhere he wants to show me. "I haven't been there in forever, so I'm not sure if I'm going to walk into something and knock myself out," he grins in my direction.

I stare at him for a moment. That's a lie. His enhanced senses would allow him to easily dodge any brick walls. I go along with him anyways. Another night along with Fang's feather, while tempting, isn't healthy, much like my eating habits. I wonder how unhealthy my life is, compared to other "normal" people.

Iggy murmurs the directions, and I take his sleeve under the pretense that he needs leading. I wonder why he wants to show me the place.

We end up going to the attic, or what would be the attic of the orphanage. It's dark and dusty, but with a nice clean, this place would have been a wonder to see. Dusty or not, I stop in my tracks, surprise tainting my usually expressionless face. Iggy chuckles at my sudden inanimateness, "I thought you'd like it. It used to be Nudge's favourite place to drag me to, before Angel and Gazzy came along. She used to talk about how the view was so nice, and how she felt like she was on top of the world here."

I let go of Iggy's sleeve and walked up to one of the walls, completely made of glass. Looking closer, I could see that one panel of glass was a door. "I thought the balcony was just for show…" I mumble while opening it to let in a cool breeze. I walk out onto the stone balcony and Iggy follows me out. It's much larger than I thought.

I swing one leg over the barrier and breathe in the cool air, feeling shivers travel down my spine. My lips quirk upwards in a half-smile and I look over to where Iggy leans against the glass wall, eyes closed with his arms crossed. He looks relaxed.

"Thank you," I'm sure he can hear the smile in my voice. He smiles back but says nothing, merely shrugging nonchalantly. I turn my gaze back away from the orphanage. Nudge was right. It is beautiful here.

I'm busy admiring the view when a voice breaks me out of my thoughts. "Max?" It's masculine but soft, and so achingly familiar. I've never heard him say my name before. My head whips around, and my fingers clench around the solitary black feather shoved into my pocket.

There he is, eyes as wide as I've ever seen them, crouching on the ledge of the balcony. It's no wonder how I didn't see him. I had been sitting facing the right side of the building, and he had been crouching on the left side of the balcony. Or maybe he had been there for so long he had turned invisible.

His wings weren't in sight; they were probably pulled beneath his clothing. Iggy didn't sense anything until Fang had dropped silently from his perch and walked slowly towards us. I was wondering why he hadn't thought something was off sooner. Maybe he wasn't paying attention when Fang had spoken. Iggy's head cocked to the side, and he turned his head in Fang's direction, eyes still closed.

"Max, what's up?" Iggy asked. Fang froze, wary eyes fixed on Iggy's closed ones. I shook my head and was about to say that it was nothing before I realized that it wasn't nothing.

"Someone I haven't seen in a long time," I explained after a long hesitation. 267 days, in fact. Fang looks at me in surprise. _Yes, I can manage to speak with other people. _It's a sarcastic thought, and it surprises me. I don't usually think that way.

Iggy sticks his hand out in Fang's direction, eyes opening, but unfocused. Fang steps forward and takes his hand. "I'm Iggy," he introduces himself. Fang freezes for a moment, but snaps himself out of it. "Fang," he says quietly.

This time, Iggy locks eyes with him and smiles a little, "That's a pretty cool name. It's nice to meet you." They let go of each other's hands, and Fang steps away. He turns to me and just stares for a few long moments before I decide to speak.

"It's been a while." My voice is surprisingly bitter and raw with emotion, a stark difference with the emotionless voice I had planned to use. Fang is unreadable, but he gently takes my forearm and guides me back inside the balcony, away from the ledge.

"You just disappeared," he speaks quietly, almost so quietly I can't hear. I see a flash of pain in his eyes. "The next time I went to find you, there was some other girl in there. I didn't know where you went."

Iggy hears enough to realize that this is a private conversation and has enough tact to duck back into the attic, closing the door behind him. That, or he was feeling cold.

It _is_ cold. I wrap my arms around myself and lean forward to rest my elbows on the cold granite ledge. He glances back at Iggy, "He's blind?" I nod, and seconds later, I hear him unfurl his wings and wrap one around me. The warmth is immediate, and I almost sigh in contentment.

Instead, I keep my eyes on the horizon, but allow myself to relax under his wing.

"You left that place?" It sounds more like a statement than a question. I nod, "A doctor came by the morning after you left. After I told him that I wasn't seeing things anymore, he declared me cured of schizophrenia. Apparently there are a lot more mentally unstable people out there than I thought, because they made me leave the next morning."

Fang says nothing, just stares into the granite ledge as though he's trying to make something out in the grey slabs of stone.

There's silence between us for a few minutes, until I break it. I wrap my fingers around the feather in my pocket and run the pad of my thumb along it again before pulling it out and holding it out so he can see it.

"I found this a month ago in the streets around here."

He takes it from me and gives it back after a moment, "You kept it for a month?" I see the corners of his lips twitch into a small smile, and my own lips curve into my tiny smile. "I missed you," is all I say.

He chuckles softly, "How were you so sure it was mine?" I shrug and run my fingers along it again, a motion that has come to bring me a sense of peace. "You've left me a lot of feathers since I was young. I know your feathers when I see them."

Fang regards me with an easy smile and an emotion that I cannot understand. Then he shrugs, "Fair enough."

Thunder rumbles in the distance, and a few drops of rain fall onto the ledge. "I think that's your cue to go back inside," he says. I glance back at Iggy, who's sitting on the floor inside, idly drawing patterns with a slender finger.

I take a deep breath of cool air and exhale slowly. As if sensing my resignation, Fang retracts his wing, rather reluctantly, where it disappears under his clothing again. I wonder when I'll be able to see him again, but don't voice my thoughts. There's never been an answer to that question.

To my surprise, he answers my unspoken question, "I'll try to be here once a week, same time as today." His lips curve into a beautiful half-smile, and I feel my cheeks heat up faintly. My small smile widens fractionally, and I nod, "Next week."

I watch as his image fades away before going back inside. Iggy's head snaps up at the sound, and I close the glass door behind me.

"You done?" he smiles, and I nod while glancing back at the balcony. There's no indication that Fang's still there. "Yeah," I say, and catch his sleeve between my fingers, "Let's head back."

The feather peeks out from my pocket, and I wrap my free hand around it, feeling a sense of calm wash over me as we make our way back downstairs.


	6. Chapter 6

I spent the week clutching the feather as usual, but it was more from anticipation than desperation. It seemed as though the days couldn't pass any slower. Iggy was surprised by my sudden change of attitude, "It's because of him, isn't it? Fang?"

He chuckled, like he could sense my surprise, "You seemed different after you came back inside that night," he said as an explanation. "Is he your boyfriend?"

I frown at him in silence for a few moments. _Fang? My boyfriend?_ I had never thought of him that way before. He had always been my solace, the only thing tethering me to the earth. Besides, a relationship requires consent from both partners. I don't think he would've of even thought of the possibility of a relationship between us.

I soon realized that Iggy was still waiting for an answer. "Uh, no, he isn't," I say hesitantly. Iggy's lips quirk in a grin, and he shrugs, "Alright, whatever you say." I roll my eyes at his shit-eating grin, but almost immediately go back to running the pad of my thumb over the feather sitting in my pocket. My mind unconsciously drifts off again.

A week passes by unbearably slowly, and for once, I eat more than three spoonfuls of my dinner. In fact, I polish off almost half the plate. Iggy stops eating entirely, blank eyes turned in my direction as he hears my knife scrape against the plate. He says nothing, as though him speaking will break the spell and cause me to stop eating. I don't mind, happily scooping food into my mouth with my right hand holding the fork while my left holds onto the Fang's feather.

Iggy stays behind this time, and I find my own way to the attic, hands shaking in the anticipation of seeing him again. There was also a nervousness, after Iggy's comment. _It meant nothing. He was just asking. But there's nothing between us like that, right? I did say that I missed him, but he didn't take it that way, did he? Or maybe I do want him to think of it that way. _

I was starting to get confused, so I stop thinking about it and sit in front of the glass door. I take out the feather, and smooth it out, admiring it in the darkness. The moon isn't out tonight. I'm not sure how long I sit there, facing the darkness of the night. It may have been hours, but it seemed like days had passed. It starts to get cold in the room and I shiver. I wonder if he forgot, or if he simply had other things to do.

I would never know, after all, he didn't leave me any means of contacting him. I almost chuckle at the thought of Fang with a cellphone. The chuckle dies in my throat before it even reaches my mouth. I bit my lip hard, and the trembling in my hand gets more violent. The feather shakes, and I clench my teeth, trying to control the shaking. It only gets worse. I'm not sure whether it's out of anxiety, or out of the cold, but I can't seem to stop. My body feels numb, and the feather drifts from between my fingers onto the ground.

A strangled sound leaves my throat and I scramble for it, skinning the heels of my palms on the floor. It doesn't matter. The feather is safely tucked back in my pocket, and I stuff my left hand inside as well, determined not to lose it again like that.

Too tired to do anything else, I lie down on the cold wooden floor and curl up on my side, still facing the balcony. The room gets darker, and II wonder if Fang ever had any intention of coming tonight. _He must've. If he didn't, he wouldn't have said so. _I frown, and pull my knees closer to my chest. _It's getting really cold. _I feel shivers racking my body, but I can't find it in myself to get up and leave. _One more minute… He'll be here. He'll be here. _

I lose track of how many times one minute has passed. All of a sudden, I'm tired, exhausted even. My eyes start to droop close and I almost give in to a blissful sleep when I feel someone shaking me. _Fang. _I shoot up, and my head collides with something hard. We both cry out in pain, and I open my eyes to see that it's Iggy. My hopes plummet and I mumble an apology to him. He shrugs it off when he hears the mood in my voice.

Iggy doesn't say anything about it though. "Max, it's 3 in the morning. All the nuns are downstairs; they're worried about you." I blink in confusion. _They're worried about me? Why? _

"They think you've run away. I didn't think you were up here the whole time." A hint of anger leaks through in his voice, "You waited here for him this whole time? Max, it's been seven hours. You're ice cold."

I look out at the empty balcony and my heart sinks lower. "Let's go," I barely whisper. He hears it, and I let him take my limp hand to gently lead me out of the attic. I'm too preoccupied with my thoughts to even mind the contact. Iggy's hand feels warm, and I find myself holding onto it for the warmth it provides me.

It's only when we're back downstairs that I notice how cold I am. The nuns are there, panic clear in their eyes. It's even more confusing to see them panic over me. I don't understand their concerns. I'm just a child in their care. Why would they care that I'm gone? It just frees up another space for someone else to sleep.

Their faces fill with a mixture of relief and anger as they spy Iggy leading me back. I find this amusing. The blind boy is guiding someone who isn't blind.

"Maximum! Do you know how worried we were? We've been looking for you for hours!" One nun looks as though she's about to hug me, but I take a small step back, and she looks as though she's been slapped. She forces it away quickly though, and just breathes another sigh of relief.

"Thank heavens you're alright. Off to bed now, and I don't want to catch you wandering off anymore after hours, do I make myself clear?" Her tone is gentle, but there's a firmness behind it that makes me nod without even thinking about it.

The nuns let Iggy stay with me for a little while. He hands me a fluffy white towel and sits next to me with the excuse that he wants to make sure I'm okay. My stiff fingers are clenched so hard around the black feather in my pocket that I'm surprised they haven't started cramping yet.

Iggy reads into the tension in my body and touches my forearm lightly. I don't shy away from him, and instead look up to see that his eyes are filled with concern. Concern for me. I find that notion odd, the fact that someone is concerned about my well-being. Iggy's eyes are directed straight into my own. He may be blind, yet he sees so much more than others.

Iggy can't see my small smile, so I just say, "Thank you." The concern in his eyes lessen a bit, and he smiles back, fingers leaving my forearm to rest in his lap.

The nuns shoo him away, and I crawl into bed. I am warm by now, thanks to the towel that Iggy gave me, but I still tremble uncontrollably under the covers.

He didn't appear the next week, nor the week after. I had reverted to the way I had been before I saw Fang here, only now my trembling had gotten more severe. Iggy seems to be increasingly mad at Fang as the days drag by. He can't stop me from going up to the attic every night, and I make sure I'm not caught there after hours again. He sits with me though, most of the time making sure I don't freeze again.

I spend most of my time in the attic staring out at the sky, hoping to see his outline sitting on the balcony, or even in the distance. He isn't there. Iggy sits at the ground, drawing into the ground with his finger, and occasionally muttering under his breath.

Once, I hear part of what he says, and it included a few choice words directed at Fang. I stay silent and keep my eyes focused on the horizon until it's time to go.

It's not until the fourth week that he appears. At first, I don't notice. It's not until the glass door opens that my head swivels around so hard I almost give myself whiplash. There he stands. Iggy notices the door creaking open, and that I haven't moved from his side, so he glares up in the direction of Fang. I didn't tell him about Fang's wings, but he figures that nobody comes up here but us.

"Took him long enough. We've been here for 2 hours now. He could've come out sooner." Iggy gets up and heads towards the door to the attic, "I'll leave you two to talk, I guess." He leaves, but not before shooting a dirty look in Fang's direction.

Fang glances at him briefly before his eyes return to me. I don't meet his gaze, and instead just watch my fingers draw idly on the ground. The door to the attic closes behind Iggy, and he shifts weight between his feet. It's almost as though he's nervous. I almost laugh at the thought. Why on earth would he be nervous? If anything, I'm the one who's had false hopes.

"Hey," he says quietly after a few minutes of silence. My fingers stops on the ground, and I bite down on the inside of my cheek. Once. Twice. Three times. The pain tells me that this is real. I haven't dreamt him here.

Looking up, I see that there are small red marks around his neck, just above the collar of his sweater. I frown at him a little but return the greeting all the same, "Hey."

When I don't say anything more, Fang regards me warily. I wonder what he's thinking. After a few moments of just silence, he speaks again, "How have you been?" His tone is careful; it sounds like a peace offering.

I stare at him and shrug. There's no way I'm about to tell him that I've been having panic attacks every so often, clutching his feather like it's the only thing rooting me to the ground. "Where were you?" I say quietly instead.

He grimaces and it looks for a moment, that my words have caused him immense pain. Then his face is clean as a slate; I can't read any emotions from it. "I was… caught up in a situation," he manages to say. There's a bitterness in his tone.

"What situation?" It dawns on me now, that I know nothing about him, yet he knows almost everything about me. I've been telling him everything about myself since I was 8 years old, since the second time he's ever met me. But he's told me nothing about himself in return. Apart from his name, I realize with a jolt that I am completely oblivious to everything about him.

He stares into the ground as though he's trying to burn a hole through it and doesn't answer. I press harder, "What situation?" Fang lifts his head and looks hard at me. He opens his mouth, and just when I think he's going to let me in just as much as I have, he shakes his head, "Don't worry about it. It's nothing."

For the first time since I've met him, I glare at Fang. _If it was nothing, then he should've been here a month ago. _I don't voice this thought though. "What situation?" I ask again, relentless.

Fang gives me a long hard look. I mirror his gaze, and he frowns. "Why do you want to know so badly?" he mutters. Suddenly, he seems disgusted. _Is he disgusted at my curiosity? _I feel slightly offended.

"I want to know, because you know practically everything about me, yet I know absolutely nothing about you, other than your name, and you've only recently given me that," my voice is steel, and I almost stutter in surprise. I didn't intend for it to come out sounding this way.

"I just want to know more about the person who's been my only friend for ten years," I force my voice to soften.

Fang's expression is one between confusion and pity. _Pity? Is that pity for me or for himself? _I can't tell. He closes his eyes and releases an inaudible breath that seems to have been pent up for a long time.

He stays like that for the longest time, and I sit on the floor, watching his chest move up and down as he breathes slowly. It's the only indication that he's alive. His image starts to fade around the edges, and before I can tell him, he opens his eyes, his figure snapping back to life.

Fang fixes me in another stare, like he expects me to look away. I don't. Eventually, he heaves a sigh and sits down in front of me.

"How much do you know about the government?" he finally asks.


	7. Chapter 7

**[A/N] Exams are over! /happy dance/ I'm not sure how often I can update though, partially because I'm working over the summer, and partially because I still haven't figured out where I want the story to go yet. ****But I'll definitely be updating at least once a week! **

**Reviews/comments are highly appreciated, thanks for reading!**

**Cheers~**

* * *

"The government?" I echo dumbly. _What about the government? _I shake my head, completely thrown off by his odd question, "Not a lot, they take care of taxes and national defense and stuff?" There's a tiny hint of a smile pulling at his lips, but it's gone before I can even ask what he's laughing at.

"That, among other things. You said that the government takes care of national defense. You aren't wrong. There's been several underground projects that they've had going on for the past thirty years or so."

I wonder why he's telling me this. Is he telling me that he's working for the government and that he's working on these underground projects? I blink dumbly at him, but nod to show that I'm listening.

"This group of people working for the government, for the so-called 'national defense', call themselves the School."

I almost burst into laughter. The School didn't seem like a very professional name, especially one that worked for the government. Fang sees the amusement clear on my face and lets a sad smile appear for a few seconds before his emotionless mask is back on. He cocks his head, and it's almost like I can hear his voice in my head. _Are you going to take this seriously? _

I clear my throat in embarrassment and wave for him to continue.

"They aren't something to take lightly," he gives me a pointed look and I bite the edge of my lip. Fang reaches out to pull my lip down from between the clutches of my teeth and I flush.

He seems not to notice, and continues. "There's a reason they're kept a secret from everyone who isn't a part of it." Fang grimaces, and his eyes watch my expression carefully.

"Max, I wasn't born with wings, or any of my abilities." He lets that sink in for a moment. I frown, "What do you mean? You grew into it?"

Fang chuckles quietly, and the sound is music to my ears. He shakes his head, and that slightly sad expression is back on his face.

"Nineteen years ago, my mother gave birth to me. She was a crack addict, and gave me up for adoption when she realized that raising me would take away from the money she would use for crack. The School usually takes in children from orphanages, children they think people won't miss." There's a moment's pause, and the next time Fang speaks, his voice is bitter. "They take the children, and then they do horrific things to them."

I'm frozen in place as he speaks. There's a foreboding feeling in the way that Fang speaks of the School, and it's the fact that I'm making him relive his past that makes me regret forcing him to tell me. But it's as though floodgates have opened. There's a detachment in Fang that I see, and I doubt I could stop him from telling me, now that he's started.

"I was just two years old when I was introduced to the School. The things they do…" His hands start to tremble softly. I reach over to touch the back of his hand lightly with my fingertips. Fang looks at me, and his hand encloses softly around my own. I try not to think about it. All the times we've touched, I've initiated it. Now, having his hand around mine, I have to force myself not to flinch.

"The whole department is geared towards making super soldiers. We're supposed to be a last resort weapon for the country to use. The School takes young children and start experimenting on them because they can't fight back. I'll spare you the details, but if we weren't strapped down to a table, we were dumped back in our cages."

His fingers tighten around my hand, and I fight the bile rising in my throat. _It's Fang. It's Fang holding my hand. Not him. Never him. _The bile recedes a little, but I have to keep my eyes on Fang, constantly reminding myself that he's not going to hurt me.

"You should know, Max, I'm not human. Not completely anyways." I must've looked shocked, because Fang chuckles lowly and without humour, "I'm not going to turn into some creature and eat you, if that's what you're worried about."

He sobers again, "I'm 98% human. The other 2% is avian. They injected me with the DNA of a raven when I was first brought in. I think being… integrated with other DNA when I was so young let me survive. A lot of the other older children didn't. I was a part of the 'Angel Experiment', they called it." I almost shudder at the name. It reminds me of the innocent Angel I know, and I suddenly picture her living in a cage. It's too horrific, and I blink hard to erase the image temporarily from my mind.

"I escaped twelve years ago. I've been living off the radar since then."

I nod. I can't find any words to say to him. There's so much thrown at me, and I have no idea how I'm supposed to react. I'm not sure what to say to possibly console him, if he even wants consolation.

There's silence between us, and I'm trying hard to wrap my head around the whole secret-government-department-experimenting-on-children part.

I suppose he's extra-talkative today, because he breaks the silence first, "I'm sorry I wasn't there a month ago." I shake my head dumbly. I just forced him to relive what was probably the worst years of his life, and he's apologizing to me. "What happened?" my voice is barely audible. I'm not sure I even want to know.

Fang run the pad of his thumb across the back of my hand. It's a reassuring movement, and it astounds me that after all of this, _he's_ trying to reassure _me_.

"I got caught again," he shrugs like there's nothing more to it, but I can see the tension in his body. My eyes widen and my grip on his hand suddenly tightens. Fang looks up to see the panic in my eyes and chuckles softly, "I'm alright. I'm here, aren't I?" I don't respond. I'm sure he can see the worry in my eyes.

"What did they do to you?" I can't stop myself from blurting it out. _It's the last thing he needs right now. I doubt he wants to relive it, any more than he wanted to relive the first few years of his life. _

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Fang says tightly. He looks like he's about to elaborate, but seems to decide against it. I don't push him.

We sit there for a few more minutes, lost in our own thoughts. My eyes take in his appearance, drinking it in like I used to. They focus on the marks around his neck. Could it have been that the School tied something around his neck? The skin there looked as though it had been rubbed raw. An idea comes to me, and I get up.

Fang snaps out of his thoughts and stares at me. "I'll be right back, don't disappear on me," I tell him quietly before slipping from the room. Nobody pays me much attention as I walk quickly to my bed and grab something from my personal drawer. One of the nuns spy the palm-sized container in my hands and gives me a concerned look. I shake my head at her and just keep walking. She turns back to her papers.

When I return to the attic, Fang is still sitting there, completely visible, though his wings are pulled underneath his clothing again. As I draw closer, I see that he had been dutifully playing with his fingers, the small movements keeping his image from vanishing. He turns his head as he hears me approaching, and takes note of the small plastic container in my hands. He cocks his head in a question.

To answer, I unscrew the cap and dip two of my fingers in the clear gel that lies inside. Kneeling down on two knees behind him, I spread it gently around the red marks that are exposed, careful not to let my fingers more than lightly brush against his skin for fear that it would hurt him.

I see Fang flinch slightly the moment I first touch him, but he makes no move to stop me. Within two minutes, I finish his neck. I sit back on my heels, and bite my lip, unsure of what to say. Fang gives me a gentle look before grudgingly rolling up the sleeves of his sweater to bare his wrists to me. They are rubbed raw, and I wince before dipping my fingers in the gel again. His wrists take much longer. They are in much worse shape than his neck. _They must've tied him down to something. _My heart aches at this thought.

He watches me work, but not once do I meet his eyes. My own eyes are too concentrated on keeping a layer of gel between his wrist and my fingers, so that I don't hurt him. By the time I finish, my hands are trembling again, and I struggle to screw the lid back on next to him. Fang puts a light hand on the back of mine, and when I take my first look at him in 15 minutes, I see gratitude and a gentleness in his eyes along with a half-smile that twists my insides around.

"Thank you," he says, and I try for a smile back. "What did you say to the nuns when you asked for the gel?" he wonders out loud. I bite the inside of my cheek as I put the container on the floor in front of me. Once. Twice. Three times.

"This… This is mine," I mumble, my eyes automatically searching for the ground again. Fang doesn't say anything, just brushes his thumb along the back of my hand in that motion of reassurance. Eventually I find enough courage to speak again.

"When I was in the mental hospital, I used to have nightmares. I still do." Fang stays silent. He knows I have nightmares; I've told him myself. But he's not aware of what they're about.

"It's always about the same thing. I'm always back in that house, with either one standing over me. Sometimes it's both of them at once." Fang's thumb freezes for a second on the back of my hand before he continues to move it.

"I used to wake up with marks all along my arm and legs. Apparently I used to claw at myself in my sleep. The nurses in the mental hospital gave me this ointment, and it helped the cuts heal over. The nightmares never got any better, but I learned to stop clawing at myself. Now I just clench my hands." I curl my fingers into fists, then relax them.

Fang doesn't speak, but as I glance up at him to gauge a reaction, a muscle in his jaw tightens. I look back down, making myself watch, instead, his thumb running across my hand.

"So instead of getting claw marks all over," I flip my hand over in Fang's larger one, and small white crescent-shaped marks are visible in the middle of my palm, "they're all concentrated in one place."

Fang's face is unreadable. He just closes his eyes to take a deep breath and release it.

"It's gotten better over the years; I only use this once in a couple of months," I say before turning my hand back over. Fang is as still as a statue, his eyes still closed, taking deep breaths.

I frown and now it's my turn to run my thumb along his hand. There's no response from him. I wait until his image starts to fade before speaking.

"Fang."

His eyes fly open, and he squeezes my hand lightly. There's something in his eyes, some emotion that I can't figure out. Whatever it is, Fang looks like he's teetering over the edge of some cliff in his mind. Fighting against himself, almost. I stay silent, giving him time to work things out. I wonder what could've set him off.

Several minutes pass before he finally speaks, "If I ever come across any of them…" His words die out, but he doesn't need to say the rest. His voice is shaking, and the tone of it betrays his emotions. It was barely concealed rage, hidden in those obsidian pools of his eyes.

"It's fine," I whisper, squeezing his hand gently. He looks at me hard, "They did… horrible things to you, as a _child_. You're still suffering," he murmurs, "They deserve at least a little punishment."

I sigh inaudibly and entwine our fingers, "Let it go; it was so long ago anyways."

"I would, but you still get nightmares. You'll always have those scars," he says, tapping the back of my hand with a finger once.

I quirk my lips into that tiny smile of mine, "I've told you before, you're the only thing that makes my nightmares disappear," I mumble, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden.

Fang chuckles, and it's such a pleasant sound I find myself wishing he would keep doing so. "I know," he says simply. "I'd be there for you through the night, but you don't have your single room anymore."

A thought flashes in my mind, but it's too selfish, so I can't bring myself to say it out loud. He notices the momentary brightening of my face though, and he presses me, "What?"

I nibble on my lip before he uses his free hand to pull it away from the clutches of my teeth again. I wonder if this will become a habit, like my unhealthy one to bite down on the inside of my cheek. "Nothing. I was going to ask if you would stay with me, invisible, so that nobody can see you, but it's too much to ask for. You have your own life."

Fang stays quiet for a moment, "Why not? I'll stay through the night. Your bed is right next to the corner, and it's always dark in the corner anyways. I'll blend right in," he flashes me a crooked smile. I wonder if he knows what that does to me. I wonder if he knows how I feel about him. I kick myself for that thought. I don't even know how I feel about him.

A thought occurs to me then, "How do you know my bed is next to the corner? And that it's always dark there?" Fang grins sheepishly, "After I found you, I spent the night trying to find out where you were, or at least where you sleep." I chuckle quietly.

"Is that creepy or weird?" he asks, insecurity plain in his voice. I shake my head and my traditional smile widens, "I find it kind of sweet," I admit.

He changes the subject quickly, but there's a smile in his voice, "I'll stay the night," he reassures me, "A little bit of relaxation never hurt anyone."

I make a note to myself to ask him what he does with the rest of his day later on.

"A bunch of the windows in the room can be opened from the second floor. You can come now, nobody sleeps on the second floor," I offer.

So that's what he does. He moves like the shadows, dark and silent, and nobody notices. Nobody even takes another look.

He sits on the edge of my bed like he used to, and holds my hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb again. There's no need for him to turn invisible. It's a new moon, so the whole hall is dark.

The soft brushes of his finger are reassuring and warm, and I fall asleep with a tiny smile. For the first time in months, I sleep peacefully.


	8. Chapter 8

**[A/N] Oh gosh, so training for work has been crazy. Sorry it took me so long to write this one up, I literally have no idea where this story is going o.o But yes, I think I may have to stick to that once a week update thing. Hmm.**

**Anyways, thanks for waiting and I hope you guys like it! Feel free to make my day with a review!**

**Cheers~**

* * *

When I wake, I am alone in the room. There's nobody still in bed, and Fang doesn't seem to be present. Then something moves in the corner of my eye, and my smile grows wider than I ever remember it being. Fang steps from seemingly thin air, and gives me a crooked smile. My stomach does a flip.

"You were out cold," he says, amusement laced in his tone, "They called for breakfast half an hour ago."

I shrug and slip out of bed, my bare feet touching the cold stone floor, "I wasn't feeling hungry anyways."

It's odd to see him in the daylight. His wings peek out from underneath his sweater. The sun rays glinting through the window highlights the purple hue that his wings give off. Fang sees me looking at his wings, and shifts them under his clothing slightly, pulling them closer into his back. I flush, shuffling my feet awkwardly.

"Wh-Why are you still here?" I'm not quite sure why I stutter, but it's too late to take it back, so I just bite my lip and grimace.

Fang lets a tiny smile cross his face as he pulls my lip from between my teeth again. _3 times he's done that now. _The happy thought intrudes on my embarrassed state, and I can't help but flush again.

"I'm laying low for a while from the government, so I don't need to do anything else for now," Fang says. I cock my head to the side, remembering that I had wanted to learn more about him, as much as I could anyways.

"What do you do?"

It's a simple question, but Fang looks at me with a question in his eyes. _What do you mean? _I mentally snicker; some old habits never change.

"Like in the morning, or afternoon, or in the middle of the night, what do you do?"

Fang shrugged nonchalantly, but I could sense the sudden tension in his body. "There are more who escaped from the School and want to get back at them. I'm a part of a group that sabotages and makes life difficult for the School."

I grimace slightly, "Doesn't that mean they'll try to capture you more? Since you're trying to stop them?" My voice is just a whisper. I don't even want to think about the torture that Fang has gone through before. If he actively tries to sabotage the School and gets caught, they might do even worse things to him.

A muscle in his jaw clenches, and Fang is hard as stone, "Someone has to stop them, no matter what it costs."

I reach out and my fingertips brush the back of his hand. The hard look in his eyes is gone, and he tries for a smile. It's enough for me.

"The nun's will have my head if I miss a meal," I mutter, "I guess I can catch you in the attic in an hour or so?" I hope he doesn't have to go anywhere, and am relieved when he nods with a small smile. "See you in a bit," he says.

By the time I get down to dinner, there's almost nobody there. I settle down in my usual place with half a small bowl of cereal and shovel a few spoonfuls into my mouth before declaring myself finished. I sit the almost empty bowl of cereal into the dirty dishes pile, and wander off to find Iggy. The nuns would likely follow me up to the attic if I had just ate and left the dining hall without any reason to.

I find him leaning against one of the walls, eyes closed and head tilted upwards. "Hey Max," he smiles as I approach. I freeze in surprise, "There's no surprising you, is there?" I mutter as I lean against the wall next to him.

He chuckles, "I could smell you coming," he says simply, amusement clear in his voice. I just grumble and roll my eyes.

"So I take it you and your boyfriend have made up?" he jokes. I shrug, "He's not my boyfriend, and we were never fighting." Iggy looks down in my direction with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, "Max, you guys are obvi-"

I cut him off. I'm not sure I need to hear what Fang and I are obviously doing. "Iggy, will you walk with me to the attic?"

He gawks at me, which is quite comical considering he can't see me, but I get the general idea, "What on earth do you want me to go to the attic for? To chaperone?"

I wince a little at his choice in words, "It's more so that the nuns don't come with me instead." He lets up on that, and waits for me to take his arm as a show of guidance before starting to walk in the direction of the attic.

Fang's outside, feet dangling off the railing of the balcony, when we step into the attic. "I'll wait for you here," Iggy grins before shooing me off, "Don't make too much noise," he winks and I resist the urge to roll my eyes at him. I open the door to the balcony and Fang turns.

"That's dangerous, you know," I let a small smile onto my face as I nod at his position on the railing, "One push and you could go flying."

Fang chuckles quietly, "Literally," he agrees. I lean on the barrier and look into the sky, "I'd like to watch one day, if you'd let me," I say quietly.

I hear him chuckle and see him shrug lightly, "Maybe." It's better than a 'no', so I just smile my small smile.

We stand there next to each other for two hours, at least that's what his worn-out watch says as I take a glimpse of it.

"I should get back inside; Iggy's probably tired of waiting for me," I mutter, and turn to look back. I freeze and frown a little. The attic was empty. Iggy wouldn't leave me alone like that without telling me beforehand. He told me he's wait. There was no way he'd leave without saying so.

Fang feels my tension and turns with me. He cocks his head in confusion. _What's wrong? _I shake my head slowly, "Iggy's not there." His frown deepens and he just watches me, as though waiting for an explanation.

"He would've told me if he was going to leave. Before I came out here, he told me himself that he would wait for me to finish. Iggy's not the type of person to disappear on me," I mumble.

Fang has a blank look on his face, like his mind is lagging, so I just shrug and open the door to the attic.

That's my first mistake.

"Iggy?" I call out. Nothing. I walk up to where Iggy had been sitting. The floor's completely cold, like Iggy's left a long time ago. That's probably my second mistake.

I turn to look back at Fang. And there's the third.

His eyes grow wide, and he takes a step into the attic, eyes fixed on a spot over my right shoulder.

Before I can even turn around, I feel something sharp jab into my neck. A needle.

An arm wraps around my waist, and I feel the panic overwhelm me again. This time though, it's worse. I don't know who's behind me, and what his or her intentions are. A small noise that sounds like a whimper escapes my throat. I thrash in the arms that are restraining me.

Fang's eyes flash, "Let go of her," he growls, and I can imagine his hackles rising.

"Now, I don't think you're in a very good position to be giving orders," a male says. It's a man holding me, I realize. His voice is mocking. I see Fang's hands curl into fists. A shuffling sound to my left catches my attention. I stop thrashing about to see Iggy in another man's arms. He's slumped over, unconscious.

"Iggy," I breathe, then start struggling to get out of the arms restraining me.

The man grunts behind me, "If you keep struggling, I'll dislocate your arms," he warns. Fang takes a step forward at the threat. The man just clicks his tongue at him, "You too, buddy boy, one more move, and consider her arms dislocated."

Fang freezes immediately, but I can feel the rage rolling off of him in waves. My eyes flit from Fang to Iggy and back again. _What is going on? _

"Let them go, and you can have me," Fang's voice is controlled and quiet. My eyes widen at this, and I suddenly realize who is behind me, who knocked Iggy unconscious. _They must be from the School. _

It's enough to make my legs feel like jelly, and the man has to hold me up, his grip tightening around my waist. It's enough to send me into a frenzy, until I remember the man's threat about dislocating my shoulders. So I keep still. My eyes find Fang's again. He must see the horror and panic in me, because I see it reflected in his own eyes.

The man holding me laughs. It's one that sends chills up my spine, "You?" The word is spat out, and he chuckles again. "Why would the Doc want you when he could have both of them? I mean, sure you were his most successful pet," Fang cringes at the word 'pet', "But I can give the Doc two blank canvases, and then come back for you later."

Another movement catches my eye. Two more men step out from behind a few crates. They cocked their guns threateningly at Fang, who hadn't once taken his eyes off me.

_I'm sorry. _It was easy to read him now. I barely shake my head, aware of the needle still sticking in my neck. The man behind me didn't press the plunger in, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to. _It's okay. _

Fang has a pained expression on his face. I could see how much he hated the situation, could see how he itched to cross the room and knock out the guy holding me, but he couldn't. Not without getting shot, or hurting me inadvertently in the process.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I have two new additions to introduce to the Doc," I could hear a sick grin in the man's voice.

Fang's eyes filled with something I had never seen before: panic. I felt whatever liquid resting in the needle being pushed into my neck.

I saw Fang take a single step forward before darkness crept into the edges of my vision and I blacked out in the stranger's arms.


	9. Chapter 9

**Oh wow, just made it in time for my weekly update. Eek, sorry! Anyways, I've been having a little trouble figuring out where this is going. **

**Let me know how you like it so far, and if there's anything you want to see in future chapters! Thanks for reading, and as always, any reviews are much appreciated. **

**Cheers~**

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"What do you think it's like?"

_What is 'it'?_

"I really don't care, as long as we get to mess around with it."

_That's a bit mean. And there's that 'it' again. What is 'it'?_

"But wouldn't it be cool to match it up with some new enhancement that suits it? Like we did with Angel #014."

_'Angel #014'? Is that an experiment? Then the 'it' is another experiment?_

"Angel #014 is still out and about, may I remind you. It doesn't matter to me what its personality is like. We're not being paid to dissect its personality. Now grab me that syringe."

_Wow. Quick and to the point. Scientist #2 is such a grouch. _

I come to, and realize that my wrists and ankles are bound to the table. My vision is still hazy when I crack my eyes open. Bright lights invade my mind and sends a sharp pain shooting into my head for a moment.

_Is this what happened with Fang? He had marks around his neck, too. I'm not sure I want to know how he got those. _

"Oh, it's awake," the voice of Scientist #2 says. I blink back dark spots in my vision to see two men in lab coats. The shorter of the two is holding a syringe and is the owner of voice of Scientist #2.

I struggle a little in my restraints, and panic slowly fills me as I take in my position. I'm spread eagled with my wrists and ankles tied tightly to the cold metal table below me with metal chains that don't give an inch.

Cain Hall had used restraints. I had been tied to the bedposts so he could have his way with me. Now I'm transported back there, just a helpless child strapped down for someone to violate.

I'm not sure which I find more terrifying, the fact that I'm about to be injected with some unknown chemical, or that I'm tied down and reliving my worst nightmares.

It doesn't occur to me that my worst nightmares might have new additions very soon.

Scientist #1 turns to the second, "It'll be noisier this way," he warns the other.

Scientist #2 just shrugs, "It's not like we haven't dealt with noise before. Be glad this one's not the one with sonic scream."

The syringe is suddenly plunged into my upper arm, and I feel some liquid being deposited inside me.

Just two seconds later, and my body writhes in pain. It's as though my insides are being set on fire. My hands tug desperately on the restraints. I can't help but scream in pain. The fire has turned into ice, and I'm shivering uncontrollably.

My vision gets hazy, but that doesn't stop me from seeing the vague images of the two scientists looking down at me, not with pity, but with curiosity and interest instead.

"I wonder which program we should introduce it to. The doc gave us full authority over this one. He says he wants to play more with the blind one."

_The blind one. Iggy. _Horror flashes through me, and I struggle violently against the metal holding me down.

Scientist #2 only looks down with what seems like disgust in his eyes. He shakes his head, like I'm nothing more than an annoyance, and jabs a different needle into my arm. Instantly, my muscles seized up and I couldn't move.

"Finally. We should just keep it locked down like this if it keeps acting up. Maybe we should put the collar on her as well. I don't want it to bite and give us rabies or something," Scientist #2 said.

Scientist #1 just shrugged, "Let's just decide which project to implement her into. We can do our examination, and then lock it back up before it decides it wants to fidget again."

My eyes widen in fear as Scientist #1 holds up a large needle. Without hesitation, he sticks it into my upper arm and begins to pull the plunger. Dark red liquid begins to fill it, and my mind vaguely realizes that he's taking my blood. I try to screams from the pain, but no sound comes out. My muscles are still locked tight, and I can't even blink.

Minutes pass by like hours, and it feels like a lifetime of pain has passed before he finally pulls the needle free from my arm. If I could, I would sigh in relief.

The lack of blood makes my vision even hazier, and I can barely see fuzzy figures moving about. My hearing is also muted slightly, though I'm not sure if it's a side-effect of the foreign liquid injected into me, or from the lack of blood.

I hear snatches of conversations, and nothing makes sense.

"Aquarius Project-"

"-experiments haven't survived from-"

"It's blood-"

"-successes from the Angel Experiment-"

_Angel Experiment. _That was what Fang was a part of.

Just the thought of him makes me ache. I hope they didn't shoot him.

"We'll start her off on it tomorrow morning."

I can't even distinguish which scientist's voice that is. Black starts to creep into my vision, and suddenly I'm exhausted. My eyes rolls back into my head and I lose consciousness.

...

I'm not sure how many days have passed since I woke up on that table. It may have been weeks or even months. All I know is that if I'm not on that dreaded table, I'm back in a place I start to call my cage.

Not a day passes by without me writhing in pain. On some of the worse days, screams escape my throat, until my throat is raw. I've learned that the first injection they gave me was one of the less painful ones.

There is one vial that the scientists force me to drink every day. It's a light grey colour. They also inject me with the same coloured liquid once a day. I've learned to dread every single time I must come into contact with the vial. It does something horrible to me, as though my skin is being split apart and a thousand knives slicing my insides apart. It's a part of the project I've become a part of.

I'm still unsure of what this project is. I've never been conscious for long enough to find out. The scientists don't bother to speak about the project, only talking about specifics and statistics.

All I know is pain. In the beginning, I was naïve enough to believe that the pain would kill me. Now, I know that it won't. It just tears through my body and leaves me shaking harder than I have ever before.

The tests are even worse. They periodically set me inside a maze and make me find the exit, switching up the walls and booby traps every time. Whenever I stop, the floor lights up with a painful electrical current.

Every time, I hear murmurs about my endurance, heart rate, and adrenaline levels.

I haven't seen Iggy since I was brought here. Sometimes I start to wonder what happened to him, and then I quickly stop myself. I'm better off not knowing.

I used to count how many times they've made me drink the liquid. Then days had turned into weeks. Then I stopped counting altogether. Pain blurred my days together.

I don't see anyone else in the pristine white room that I'm held in. There are no other cages, no other experiments, and no other people, save the two scientists.

I'm beginning to think that I'm going to die here. Then again, I haven't been given a single reason to think any differently.


	10. Chapter 10

**/screams because oh gosh jobs wtf/ Anyways, I went a little over my one-update-per-week a little /grimaces/ I swear one week never felt so short yet long in my life... Sorry!**

**So as per usual, I'm making up these updates practically on the spot, so forgive me if my grammar is a bit horrendous. I haven't been checking my grammar... Sighs, I really should get on that. **

**So like always, thank you guys so much for reading, and leave me a review or comment, and maybe even a few suggestions as to where you'd like the story to go? Thank you thank you! **

**Cheers~**

* * *

_Crack! _I start to panic. I'm in a nightmare. No, not the one where I'm an experiment. That one's a different one called real life. In this one, my hands are bound behind my back and a belt is coming down on my bare torso. Cruel eyes stare down at me and a harsh laugh barks out. _Cain. _The belt cracks down again, and I scream in pain.

I wake to the bars of my cage shaking. I'm confused, and try to blink the dark spots out of my vision. Someone's shaking the bars of my cage. Through a confusing haze, I make out a dark shape. _Is it Fang? _Hope sparks deep inside me before it's squelched out. I can barely make out a white lab coat, and wonder whether it's Scientist #1 or Scientist #2. Either way, I brace myself to be dragged out of the cage and fastened onto the table, like usual.

_Why is it so foggy? _The usually pristine white room is covered in a grey haze that seems to stretch on endlessly. There's a pungent stench, and it shoots unpleasantly up my nose.

The bars of my cage rattle harder this time, and the hinges give way, letting the door pop off. I unconsciously back away into the back of my tiny cage. Whenever I left the cage, it always meant I would feel pain.

Two hands reach into the cage, and I bite at anything that comes close. These hands are different though. Where the scientists would have dragged me out instantaneously, whoever these hands belonged to, hesitates. Someone bends down, and I see Iggy's concerned face. His eyes almost immediately focuses on me, and he shoots me a grim smile.

My breath shoots from me in a whoosh. I fly out of the cage and into his arms, knocking him to the ground. I cling to him with a death grip and feel tears prick the back of my eyes.

_Iggy. He's alive. _That's all that registers in my mind, and I feel him chuckle softly, his body shaking slightly. His arms come around me, and he holds me for a few moments before pulling away.

"Hey Max," he speaks quietly, then coughs. "We need to get out of here before all three of us pass out from the smoke," he mutters. _All three of us?_ I barely have enough time to process his words before he pulls me up and I stagger behind him, unsteady on my feet. I look around, and only then do I realize that the whole place is burning. There are bright flames crawling up the wall where my cage sat. They lick across the ceiling, and pieces of plaster started to fall.

We burst out of the room, and I see four figures engaged in a fight through the smoke and fog. One has dark wings flared out behind him. _Fang. _My heart stops. Even fighting three men at the same time, he was still so graceful and silent.

In a flash the three men opposing him were lying on the ground. Breathing hard, he turns to see us, and sends a small smile my way. _It's him. It's really him. _Iggy holds a piece of fabric over his mouth while he coughs to the side.

Fang rushes over to us, "Are you two okay?" he asks. I can't think of a way to reply. Iggy nods in my place, "The smoke isn't helping though," he says thickly through the fabric.

Fang nods his agreement and I blink. _The smoke? _It didn't bother me much, but I hurry through the halls with Iggy's hand on my arm and Fang leading the way, fists clenched.

"Which way, Iggy?" he asks, his voice barely making its way to us over the loud siren of the fire alarm. I frown. _He's asking Iggy?_ I'm about to remind him that Iggy is blind when he speaks up, "Make a right at the next opening, and then take the second left. Then you should see the emergency exit signs." Fang nods and speeds up.

I look at Iggy in wonder._ Did he walk down these halls often? But there's no way they would've led him to the emergency exit. _He avoids my curious glances, and looks ahead of him.

Within seconds, we're out of the building, and I take huge lungfuls of clean air. I don't even know how long it's been since I've been outside. It's nighttime and the area is completely dark. It is only now that I register that both Iggy and I are bare-footed, the gravel digging slightly into the pads of my feet.

"Iggy?" Fang's quiet voice pierces into the night.

I watch as Iggy does a quick 360 turn, then point somewhere off to our left. Fang leads the way again through a maze of alleyways, occasionally asking Iggy for directions.

When we get back out to the main road, he takes my other hand and walks briskly through the night. We are almost stopped twice by gruff looking men, but one menacing look from Fang makes them step back.

We finally arrive at an old rundown building. Fang grabs a key from inside his pocket and unlocks the door. We all fall inside.

Contrary to how the building looks outside, the interior seems much cleaner, though mostly empty. There are two beds and a few sofas spread out, as well as one long table. It doesn't look like anyone's used it in a long time.

By this time, Fang and Iggy are supporting me. My legs have gone jello-like, and I can't stand by myself. They deposit me on one of the beds. I feel light-headed, and there are bright flashes in my vision.

Fang drops down next to the bed, his eyes swimming with concern. I reach out and he lets the tips of my fingers touch his cheekbone. Other than a slight twitch of his mouth, Fang remains immobile.

Iggy comes over and rubs my shoulder. His eyes crinkle a little, "You okay there?" His voice is strained and he's lost his trademark joking tone.

I imagine that I would've, too.

I try to nod, but my body only shudders. A muscle in Fang's jaw twitches, and a shadow passes over his face. Iggy brushes a few stray hairs out of my face before leaning back.

"You should get some sleep," he says before padding off to the sofa. Fang squeezes my hand gently before covering me with warm blankets. I curl up on my side, not quite wanting him to go, but unable to voice my thoughts.

So when he smiles tenderly at me and gets up to leave, I let him.

"Off the couch, Iggy. That's your bed over there," I hear him speak quietly, a small smile in his voice. I see Iggy blink in surprise, but he nods gratefully and mutters a quick thanks before moving to crawl into the bed on the other side of the room.

I don't see what Fang does next, because the next thing I know, pain lances through my skull. I curl up more, tucking my knees more firmly into my chest, my teeth gritted against each other. It feels as though my head is splitting apart.

A tiny whimper bubbles from my throat, and before I know it, Fang is by my side. I feel his warm hand against my frozen fingers, hesitant and slightly panicked. He says nothing though, merely staying there, letting me know that he's there for me.

After a few more seconds of agonizing pain, I let my fingers loosen from my tightly clenched fists before clutching at two of his fingers and holding them in a death-grip. The pain is spreading from my head to the rest of my body, making my muscles spasm and tremble.

Fang keeps stroking the back of my hand with his thumb, a silent and dark figure next to my bed. It's almost like I'm back in the mental hospital again. The thought almost makes me snicker. So much has changed since then.

His voice is barely audible, even in the quiet room. "It'll pass. Just try to relax. Tensing up makes it worse," his voice is calm, but I can feel the tension in his body.

I do as he says, even though every rational thought screams at me in protest.

After what feels like a lifetime later, the pain gradually fades, leaving my body to shake uncontrollably. My grip on Fang's fingers loosens, and my eyes drift closed in relief. I'm exhausted. I barely even feel Fang's warm hand leave my own, when I lose consciousness completely.

…

"It wasn't anything like yours." Iggy's voice finds its way to me, as though I'm hearing things through a muffler.

"Like mine. She doesn't have wings, or enhanced strength, speed, anything like that?" Fang's voice is quiet, like it always is, but there's an undercurrent of something else in it, something dark and ominous.

"It didn't say 'Angel Experiment' on her… cage," Iggy says. I can hear the grimace in his voice as he forces himself to say the word. Nevertheless, he continues speaking, "It said 'Project Delta Arietid."

There's silence for almost a minute. Then, "Delta Arietid…?" Fang's voice is unsure.

"You've never heard of it." It's a statement, and Iggy's voice falls.

"Give me a second and I'll search it up. I might be able to find something, some clues," Fang sounds determined.

_Project Delta Arietid?_ The name sounded foreign. I had never heard of it before, and definitely never heard the scientists mention it.

It fades into the back of my mind as I lose consciousness again, and the welcoming blackness of my mind enveloped me again.


	11. Chapter 11

**Damnit, late by one day again. Sorry guys, I'm just so busy applying for jobs and stuff eek. It's actually tough as heck to grab a job these days. Anywhoo I have an interview tomorrow morning, so off to bed it is! **

**Thanks to all the new followers and to those who've been here for a while! Much loveee :) **

**Feel free to leave me a comment or review /nudges you to the review button/ Thanks for reading!**

**Cheers~**

* * *

The next time I wake, sunlight is fading from the windows. It takes me a few moments to blink the blurriness out of my eyes. Iggy's back is facing me; he's looking out the window, casting a long shadow into the room. Fang's at the sofa, hunched over a black laptop.

I slip out of the bed, shivering slightly when my bare feet touch the cold stone floor. I glance down at my feet, and spy a pair of faded pink slippers next to my feet. They're a little flimsy, but I'm grateful for the shield against the cold ground, so I slip them on and pad over to sit on the sofa.

Fang glances up at me, then shuts the laptop, turning his full attention to me. "How are you?" he asks, concern filling his features. I lean against the back of the couch and take a deep breath, releasing it slowly. I shrug. I don't know how I am.

"She's pumped full of drugs," I hear Iggy's voice and turn to see him staring at me. I blink. _How could he know that? _

"There's enough chemicals in her to knock out a rhino," Iggy continues, his voice turning bitter. He walks towards us, and brushes the back of his fingers against my forehead. I grimace but don't pull away.

"It feels like she's running a fever," he murmurs.

"I don't feel sick," I say quietly, a little confused. Fang frowns and takes my hand, pressing his fingers gently into my palm, "She does feel warm," he says.

I slowly pull away from them, "Guys, I feel fine," I say with a small smile, trying to reassure them. It was a small lie. My head was pounding, but I didn't feel like I was running a fever. It works though, and they leave it alone.

We're all quiet for a few moments.

"What happened yesterday?" I ask them, "Did you set the place on fire?"

Fang chuckles quietly, "No, we didn't set anything. It started inside the compound, and by the time I got inside, most of the people had evacuated. I was just going through the rooms, and happened to find Iggy. He found you and the rest you should remember."

I frown at Iggy, "How _did_ you find me? How did you navigate through the place? They never would've walked you around the place…"

Iggy bites his lower lip and I'm suddenly reminded of what Fang used to do when he caught me with my lip between my teeth.

"They… did something to my eyes," Iggy starts off, snapping me back to reality. I look up at him, waiting for him to continue. Iggy closes his eyes and I see his knuckles whiten as he clenches his fists over the back of the couch. The setting sun casts dark shadows around him and the rest of the room.

"They took out my real eyes and gave me these metal ones."

I freeze. When we broke out, I never looked at his eyes closely. Now I do. They don't look all that metallic. Iggy sees me staring curiously, and shoots me a bitter smile. "They seem real enough, until you're up close," he explains.

I blink and look away from his eyes, instead choosing to stare at a spot above his upper lip. Iggy chuckles quietly. It's not like his real laugh, and he runs his thumb lightly over my shoulder. The contact is gone before I even think of sliding from under his touch.

Part of me wonders if he's going to continue, but for the most part, I don't want to know. I don't want to force him to relive the pain of being held by the School. I don't know if I could even tell them what the scientists did to me.

"They act like real eyes, projecting images into my brain, and they also added a few 'enhancements'."

Iggy shudders inadvertently, and I feel a sudden urge to take his hand, or do _something_ to comfort him. I don't though, unsure if _I _can take the contact.

"They gave me x-ray vision, which is how I could navigate through the place, and outside of it, too," Iggy's voice is strained as he struggles to continue, "… heat vision, ice vision, and some other stuff I can't remember."

I nod, and am relieved when he doesn't keep talking about the School.

I can feel Fang's gaze on me, and I look at him only to see a question in his eyes.

_What happened? What did they do to you? _

I can't find it inside myself to respond to the question, so I pretend that I don't understand his curious gaze and look back down to my hands.

He lets it go and looks back at the closed laptop, as though he can burn a hole into it if he stares hard enough. Now that I think about it, that would be more up Iggy's alley.

"So what now?" Iggy's voice breaks the silence. I realize that I have no idea what to do either, so we both look to Fang.

He stays quiet and still for a few more seconds. When his image starts to fade, Fang finally releases a breath.

"We try to stay off the radar."

Iggy and I nod, and Iggy shuffles off to the window again. I look at his back and wonder how he must be feeling right now.

It was nice for him to be able to see again, but I couldn't imagine the pain that Iggy must've gone through back at the School.

I sit there for a few more minutes before tapping Fang on the shoulder, my fingertip just barely brushing against his skin. He shakes himself out of whatever thoughts he's having and turns to me.

"Go get some sleep," I nod my head at the bed that I had occupied the night before, "You look like you've been up all night."

Fang looks at me as though I've been speaking gibberish. "You're sleeping on the bed," he says dumbly. I frown for a moment. It's logical for me to sleep on the couch. Iggy and Fang weren't fat, but they were tall and their leanly muscled 6 foot frames would never fit comfortably on the small couch. I would though, and considering how I curled up on my side to sleep, the couch would be the logical place for me to sleep. Apparently Fang thought differently.

"It makes sense though, for me to-"

"You're not sleeping on the couch, Max," Fang's voice is soft, but there's an underlying tone that tells me he won't be taking no for an answer.

I sigh and shake my head slowly, "Alright," I mumble before shuffling off.

I'm lying down on my side facing the rest of the room, my back against the stone wall. It feels a lot better than the bars of my cage. I shudder delicately, trying to blink back images again.

Fang comes over to me after a long while. Iggy is still standing at the window. I wonder what he's looking at; everything outside has already become dark. He had said something about the scientists giving him better vision. I wonder how the world looks like to him now.

"Hey," Fang says simply as he crouches down next to the bed. I feel my lips twist unnaturally into a meek imitation of my old smile.

"How are you feeling?"

I shake my head, "I don't know."

Fang tilts his head to the left in a question.

"I'm not hurting like before, but I feel really heavy and clumsy," I explain. Fang nods, "It's the chemicals they pumped into you. Iggy says he can see enough poison in you to take down a rhino."

I chuckle silently at that. "A rhino?" I echo, a smile in my voice. Fang smiles, "More or less."

It seems as though the scientists didn't have time to enhance Iggy's hearing, because he didn't hear us.

Fang's fingertips brush against the back of my hand, and I flinch involuntarily. He freezes.

I swallow hard and clench my hand into a fist, "I… I'm sorry," I mumble.

Fang shakes his head. I can see pain in his eyes and a muscle clenching at his jaw.

I take the sleeve of his shirt between my fingers before he can turn away from me. He stills and looks at me.

"Really. I'm sorry. I just… It feels like… Cain," the moment I say Cain's name, Fang tenses again.

His eyebrows pull together slightly, as though he's in pain.

"I wouldn't," he says slowly, "I wouldn't ever hurt you."

My heart clenches at that, "I know," I whisper, "I'm sorry."

Fang shakes his head and manages smile a little, "Don't be. It's not your fault. You'll get better with it in time."

I let him turn away this time, my hand hanging in the empty air for a little longer than necessary before returning to my side.

_You'll get better in time. _

I really hope so.


	12. Chapter 12

**Damn it, I keep missing the one week mark by a day. I actually had most of this one written by last night, but I had to go to sleep before it was fully completed. Oh gosh. Work is the the worst. But at least I get paid. keke**

**/casually nudges you to the review button/ Like it, hate it? Any suggestions and comments are always welcomed! **

**Thank you so much for reading! You guys are amazing 3**

**Cheers~**

* * *

The next few days pass relatively quickly. A few other teenagers come by the building, and every single time, Iggy and I are immediately on edge. More often than not, I start shaking, the tremors wracking through my body. My mind always snaps to the possibility that the School had found us again, that I would be plunged back into a world of pain inside a dog crate.

The teenagers turned out to be Fang's friends. Some were completely human, and others were experiments who had escaped from the School. They were never around for too long, mostly just exchanging short hushed conversations with Fang.

I caught a few of their curious glances as I shook on the bed, my knees pulled up to my chest, and Iggy sitting beside me. He didn't move at all, but I could feel the tension rolling off his body.

When a few of Fang's acquaintances stayed for over an hour, they were usually introduced to us. I didn't touch any of them. How could I, when I couldn't even stand contact with Fang and Iggy yet?

There was Leo, who had glowing yellow eyes like a cat, or a demon. Tara flitted about, like she couldn't keep still. It wasn't difficult to see that she had something close to super-speed. Nick was a cyborg, his robot parts sometimes glowing through the fabric of his clothing. When he saw my gaze fixed to a glowing spot on his wrist, he grinned at me before clenching his fist. A deadly-looking canon sprouted over his hand. My eyes widened a little. He winked before allowing his hand to relax, the canon retreating back into his body. Fang had nudged him with a small smile, returning Nick's attention back to the laptop and whatever they were working on.

Iggy and I just watched them work, their hushed whisper never allowing us to hear more than a few words at a time.

I wonder what was going on. Whenever I caught Fang's eye and sent him a questioning look, he only shook his head at me with what was supposed to look like a reassuring smile. Right.

At least now my body doesn't hurt too much. Iggy says that the chemicals seemed to be fading from my body. I feel a little bit uncomfortable when he says that, not forgetting that he has x-ray vision now.

Fang's still worried about me. He says that I feel like I'm running a fever. Iggy says that I'm not sick. I don't feel sick. I just feel weak.

At least two weeks have passed since Iggy and Fang have rescued me from my dog crate. Today I'm leaving the safety of Fang's small home for a little while at least. Fang is taking both of us grocery shopping, saying that we both need a walk in the sun anyways.

It's true, I suppose. I've spent most of those two weeks sitting on the bed or couch, bracing myself for another wave of pain. The pain comes less and less often, but it doesn't lessen the pain when it does strike.

Either way, I find myself walking out on the streets, with Fang and Iggy flanking me on either side.

I suppose I should've seen it coming. We _were_ walking right next to an alley. One moment, Iggy was on my left, and the next, he wasn't. I whip around the moment I felt his presence disappear. A small cry leaves my lips when I see him being held with a knife to his throat by someone with a mask on.

That small cry is the only thing that leaves me before another man dressed similarly grabs me and presses a sharp knife into my back. Fang is surrounded by two more men, who force him to back into the alley. All four men are armed.

We're at an extreme disadvantage. Iggy and I are held at knife-point, and Fang can't extend his wings and fly away, not in this narrow alley.

The man holding me tightens his grip on my forearms. Panic bubbles up my throat in the form of a tiny whimper. Fang's jaw clenches at the barely audible sound, but he can't do anything, not with knives pointing at me and Iggy, and a gun pointed at him.

"Shut up, bitch," the man snarls in my ear. His face is so close to mine that I can smell his foul rotting breath and feel his unkempt beard poking at me from underneath his mask.

A shiver runs down my spine, and that soon turns into a tremble that I can't seem to stop. My body shakes in his hold, causing him to press the blade of his knife harder into my back.

"Stop squirming, bitch, or I will cut you up," he warns, his voice a menacing gravelly tone. Like he wants to prove his point, I can feel the knife cutting through the flesh of my back.

A trickle of blood runs down the cut, and I hear his snickering behind me. "Don't test me. Otherwise, I might have to tie you up, and have some fun with you. I've always liked the feisty ones. They're more fun to break."

I still myself completely, and am somewhat surprised that my tremors have gone. "There's a good girl," my captor purrs in my ear. My eyes squeeze shut and Cain's face surfaces in my mind unwillingly.

_No. Please stop. _I cannot stop the onslaught on images that play out in my mind. A lighter in Cain's hand. Cain's sadistic smile. A whip cracking down on my bared torso.

I whimper again, except this time, it builds into a shriek of pure terror. I feel as though I can't breathe. The alleyway feels smaller, everything cramped.

To my surprise, instead of feeling the knife sink deeper into my back, my captor's hands fall away, the blade slipping out of his hands to the ground. I'm shaking. The tremors seem to have come back with a vengeance. My eyes crack open. Everyone else seems to freeze around me. Fang's eyes flick from me to Iggy, and they share a look.

I haven't seen what happened to the man who was holding me. I turn and see him writhing on the ground, his hands covered in flames, flames that seem to be climbing over his body.

Then I catch sight of my own hands. They're covered in flames, too. Blue flames originate from my palm, and orange flames lick down to my forearms, where it singes the edges of my sleeves. It doesn't cause me pain, I'm surprised to find. Or maybe I'm in shock. My eyes widen to impossible sizes and I swallow hard.

_Yes. I'm in shock. _The other captors have frozen, fear evident in their eyes. Iggy and Fang easily break out of their grasps, and the men in black seem to fall away in fright, they're original intention forgotten. Even the man who was holding me crawls away from me, his screams echoing into the alleyway as he heads off in the direction of his accomplices.

Fang and Iggy also look like they're in shock. They don't chase after the men, but nor do they make any move towards me. _Why aren't they panicking? I could actually burn to death. _

"Max?" Iggy finally speaks. My hands still haven't stopped sprouting flames. It is only then that I realize my hands have been generating the flames. _I set that man on fire. _I turn my gaze to Iggy. I'm teetering on the edge of complete overwhelming panic.

The fire climbs higher on my forearms, licking at the air around it. My breathing turns shallow, and I feel like I'm about to scream. Iggy comes closer, ignoring the flames that continually spread. "Max, calm down," he says, his voice soothing.

I look at Fang. He hasn't moved since the men left. His eyes are fixed on my face, completely ignoring the flames shooting from my hands. There's an intensity in his gaze, and I can't figure out what he's feeling.

"Take a deep breath," he murmurs, his eyes never leaving mine. His voice is soft, and I comply, feeling air gust into my lungs. I let out my shaky breath, and feel the flames miraculously retreat back into my palms.

"Again," the corner of his mouth curves upwards the slightest bit in what seems to be meant as a reassuring smile. I do as he says, and when Iggy brushes his fingers against my palm, I almost jump back, scared that he might've suffered the same fate as the other man.

When he doesn't fall away screaming in pain, I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. The flames have all gone, and with it, my strength. My knees give out, and the two catch me so I end up collapsing in their arms.

"Delta Arietid?" I hear Iggy ask faintly. I don't hear Fang say anything in return. Black spots have returned in my vision. I struggle to stand on my own, and finally manage to do so after a few moments. They keep their hands on my forearms, supporting me. I let them. It's not like I have a choice. If it wasn't for them, I would've faceplanted into the ground by now.

Needless to say, grocery shopping is called off for the day. We return to Fang's home, and I don't think I've ever been so grateful to sink onto the couch.

"Max," Fang starts. I look at him. He's sitting next to me on the couch. Iggy's frowning, leaning against the wall. Fang seems to lose his ability to speak. I can read the emotion in his eyes this time though. He's worried.

I can't tell him that I'm alright. I honestly don't know if I am.

"What's happening to me?" My voice is barely a whisper. I can't meet his eyes. I can't even look up to Iggy for comfort. I can only stare at my palms, as though waiting for them to burst into flames again.

Fang says nothing. I think it's his way of telling me he doesn't know.

"I can't stay with you. I don't know how to control this," I mumble. Fang takes my hand, and I flinch, pulling away almost violently. "I can't. I don't want to-"

He cuts me off before I can say anything else, "You won't. I trust you."

_But I don't. _Either way, I keep my hands out of his reach. For his sake.

I'm truly a freak. The girls back at the mental hospital called me one, too. So did Cain. I don't know if I've ever believed it. Now I do. I'm a full-fledge freak, complete with hands that will set anyone aflame. I should be locked up, somewhere far away where I can't hurt anyone.

"Nobody is locking you away, Max." Fang's voice is soft but stern.

Iggy comes over and sits next to me, "You're not a freak. You're like us. We're all… different."

I stay silent. Some part of me nags that I'm treating them like I did the staff at the mental hospital, and that they deserve better.

"Different isn't bad. You'll learn to control it, in time. You'll figure out what triggers it and how to overcome it," Iggy continues.

I look at him with confusion in my eyes, "How can you be so sure? What if I never learn?"

Fang takes my hand, not letting me shy away this time. He runs his thumb over my knuckles in that familiar gesture of reassurance, "You will. And we'll be right here with you the whole time."

My gaze travels from Fang to Iggy and back again. I feel tears well up in my eyes and then sliding down my face.

I can barely get the next words out of my closing throat, "Thank you."

Then the ceiling breaks open and all hell breaks loose.


End file.
